I'll Stand By You
by Celtic Blades
Summary: AU - Updated - Legolas and Boromir can be friends, can they be lovers? And will Legolas be able to save Boromir from the call of the ring? Why is Legolas kissing Aragorn? How much is the ring's fault? Lots of Gimli/Legolas humour SLASH Legolas/Boromir
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Boromir!" Aragorn called, catching the man off guard. "There's some of this excellent stew left. Would you like some?"

Boromir turned to face the Ranger, hoping that Aragorn had not noticed that he was looking for the elf again. He'd caught himself doing it at odd intervals over the day. There was something that fascinated him about their tall companion, and he was trying to figure it out.

"Thank you, I think I will," Boromir replied. He held out his bowl to Aragorn who scooped the remains of the meaty broth into it. The rest of the Fellowship had finished and were doing various chores around the camp, getting ready for the night.

"It's good, isn't it?" Aragorn asked. "I'm always surprised at what Sam can create with dried meat and a few herbs."

"Yes," Boromir mumbled through his stew. "He's resourceful." He looked around. "Did anyone else want any?"

"No, they're fine, although Gimli could eat as much as our young Hobbit friends if he put his mind to it."

Boromir laughed at that. Aragorn looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "How are you feeling about our companions, Boromir? "

Boromir stopped chewing and stared at Aragorn. "What do you mean?" he asked, carefully.

"Only that you are not used to Dwarves and Elves, I think." Aragorn told him.

Boromir sighed. "Dwarves, or at least Master Gimli, seem to be like the older warriors in my company back home. Bluff, brusque and as sentimental as grandmothers underneath. Were it not for his stature, I would easily consider Gimli as a man of my acquaintance."

Aragorn laughed. "I wouldn't let him hear you say that," he cautioned. "I don't think he would take it as the compliment you mean." His eyes darkened slightly. "And the elf?"

Boromir looked confused. "He doesn't say much, does he? And there's something quite different about him. I admit that it puzzles me."

"Different? In what way?" Aragorn asked, truly interested. "He is an elf, after all."

"I'm not sure. I've been trying to figure it out all day. You've known him for quite a while, I gather?"

Aragorn pulled out his pipe and began to pack it. "Yes, most of my life. I assure you that he's always been a quiet sort, but he's a good and dependable warrior." He lit his pipe and regarded the other man through the smoke. "A word of advice on dealing with elves," he continued. "They tend to think of us as somewhat barbaric. Nothing personal. Take your time in getting to know Legolas. First impressions can sometimes be misleading."

"Thank you." Boromir said, still puzzled. Gimli came out of the trees, alone. He sat down beside Aragorn and lit his own pipe.

"Where's Legolas?" Aragorn asked him, knowing that Gimli had followed the elf from the clearing earlier.

"Hiding. I think he went up a tree somewhere. You know elves. They're like squirrels. Go crazy at the sight of a big tree." He exhaled slowly. "Maybe they all like nuts?" he joked. A rain of acorns fell on his head from the tree behind them. He looked back, unconcerned, as they bounced off his bushy hair.

"It'll take more than that to annoy me, Elf!" Gimli called up into the tree. He turned back to the men. "Would you like a smoke, Boromir? It'll put hair on your chest."

"Er, I don't know," Boromir stammered, watching the acorns, one by one, bounce off Gimli's head and shoulders.

"It's a filthy habit!" Legolas called out from his perch. "You won't like it."

"Let the lad make up his own mind!" Gimli yelled back.

Boromir stared in fascination as an old bird's nest flew out of the tree and onto Gimli's head. Then the rain of acorns continued. The hobbits, attracted by the commotion, gathered around the group. They quickly made themselves comfortable.

"Legolas, why are you throwing acorns at Gimli?" Pippin asked, lighting his own pipe.

"Because there aren't any rocks up here!" Legolas called down.

"That does make sense," Merry conceded. "Would you like some?"

"Stop it, all of you!" Gandalf commanded, stepping out from behind the trees where he had been considering their route. "Is this any way to act?"

"It's that foolish elf," Gimli began. The rest of his explanation was cut off by Legolas swinging down through the branches and hanging upside down by his knees.

"Be very careful in finishing that statement, friend Dwarf. I've found a beehive up here, and I'm not afraid to use it."

For a moment there was silence as Boromir and Aragorn looked at each other, and then Gandalf began to laugh. The others joined in, even Legolas, his hair hanging across his face. He swung himself out of the tree and sat beside Boromir.

Gandalf wiped tears out of his eyes and sat with the others. He pulled out his pipe and set the brand Pippin passed him to it. They smoked in silence for a moment, Frodo blowing smoke rings that Gandalf pierced with smoke arrows. Legolas sat back a bit from the group and frowned when Merry offered a spare pipe to Boromir. The man from Gondor looked at the elf for a moment and then inhaled briefly. It set him to coughing.

"You are all corrupting the one person who doesn't smell like the South Farthing." Legolas complained, as Gandalf whacked Boromir on the back and Sam got him a cup of water.

Boromir's second try went a little better.

"Why don't elves like pipeweed, Legolas?" Sam asked quietly.

"They like to drink enough," Gimli interrupted.

"Elves have to be careful with pipeweed, Sam." Aragorn answered, forestalling another argument. "It can meddle with their senses, cause them to become excitable or morose."

"Or downright violent, don't leave that part out, Aragorn." Legolas continued, glaring at the dwarf. "Very violent."

Boromir, startled by that last comment, began to cough again, eliciting giggles from the hobbits.

"That's that, then." Legolas told him, taking the pipe from his hands and giving it to Merry. "Come on, Boromir, we're going to get you out of this smoke before you get any more lightheaded" He pulled him up and began to walk him towards the stream.

Dizzy from the smoke, Boromir did not argue. Legolas held him by the elbow and steered him away from the others, ignoring their laughter. He settled Boromir on a large rock. Boromir began to cough again. Legolas pulled a large leaf from a tree and folded it quickly into a cup. Bending down, he filled it up and passed it to the man. Boromir drank it gratefully.

"You don't need to go along with everything they do, you know." Legolas said quietly. "You don't need to prove yourself every moment."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Boromir replied, looking down. Legolas crouched down beside him so their faces were level.

"I think you do." He was silent then, but did not move. His eyes gazed into Boromir's with a steadiness the man found disquieting. Boromir forced himself to look away. Then he realized something.

"It's the way you move!" he said. "That's what it is!"

"I beg your pardon?" Legolas asked, confused.

Boromir felt a faint heat on his cheek and was glad they were away from the fire. "I told Aragorn that there was something about you that I couldn't put my finger on. It's the way you move! You're like a dancer. No matter what you do, it's graceful."

"Graceful?" Legolas asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"Yes! I'm glad I figured it out! Now I can stop worrying about it."

"I'm about to start worrying about it!" Legolas snapped. "I'm not a dancer, I'm a warrior! How much of that pipeweed did you smoke?"

Boromir realized that Legolas was getting angry. "You don't understand. I don't mean it in an effeminate way or anything like that. It's like a cat or a horse. All that elegance with such power behind it." Even as he said it, Boromir realized how stupid he sounded.

Legolas sighed. "You think I'm a dancing horse. Wonderful." He pulled Boromir to his feet. "Let's get you to bed. And then I'm going to kill Gimli."

"For what?" Boromir asked.

"Just on principle. Do me a favour, Boromir, and don't mention this conversation to anyone. I think you're a bit mixed up right now."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The rain fell in large droplets, carving small holes into the dust at his feet. Boromir sighed and pulled his cloak tighter around him. The wind carried a chill through the damp air, and Boromir felt his thoughts being pulled to the ring yet again.

_Bring me a mighty gift_, his father had told him. Now he was committed to destroying that gift. He turned around to look at Frodo once more. The hobbit lay sleeping, surrounded by Sam and his cousins. Aragorn sat over them, oblivious to the rain, smoking silently. His eye caught Boromir's and he smiled slightly. Boromir looked away and shifted, trying to find a comfortable position against the tree he was leaning against.

The next morning Boromir strode alongside Gandalf in front of Gimli and the hobbits. Aragorn asked Legolas to walk in the rear with him.

"Is something bothering you, Aragorn? Legolas asked.

"It's Boromir. He seems a little preoccupied." Aragorn responded in Sindarin. Legolas started for a moment, surprising Aragorn. "Had you noticed it too?"

The elf thought for a moment before speaking. "He does seem a little quieter today. As though something weighs on him."

Aragorn nodded, watching the tall figure beside the wizard. "Maybe you should keep an eye on him, see if you can find out what's bothering him."

Legolas snorted. "How am I supposed to do that? Wouldn't you be better? You are supposed to be his king, after all."

Aragorn shook his head. "No, I think you should be the one to do this. He's a proud man, already upset by me. In his estimation, his father is king of Gondor." Aragorn sighed. "Besides, you've already dazzled him."

"Dazzled him?" Legolas almost shrieked, causing the others to turn and look at them. He lowered his voice. "What are you going on about now?"

"He's never been with elves before, Legolas. He's intrigued by you."

Legolas laughed at that. Then, inexplicably to Aragorn, he made a small meow.

"Try and make friends with him." Aragorn looked meaningfully at Legolas. "He may be in more dire need than any of us."

"Oh," Legolas exhaled. "The ring?" he asked very quietly.

"I think it might be. See what you can find out."

Legolas nodded in agreement. "One thing, though. What do I talk to him about? What if I say something inappropriate?" Aragorn glared at him.

After the next rest stop Legolas motioned to Boromir. "Come, walk with me." he suggested.

Boromir looked surprised, but made his way to the side of the elf. He was still slightly embarrassed about his remarks two nights previously, and was hoping to find some way of convincing Legolas that no insult had been intended. Legolas spoke warmly to him.

"Tell me of your home, Boromir. What is the White City like?"

Boromir stared at the elf. Then a horrible thought crossed his mind. "Legolas," he asked firmly, "did Aragorn assign you to be my friend?"

"Yes and no," Legolas replied honestly. "He did suggest I should get to know you, as we will be companions for some time. But I had other reasons."

"May I ask what those are?" Boromir said, getting a little flustered. Legolas did not notice and went blithely on.

"I am curious about your comment. Regarding the way I move. I assure you, I'm quite ordinary for my kind."

"Somehow I doubt that," Boromir retorted. "And I really don't need you to be my friend so Aragorn can keep an eye on me!"

Legolas stopped for a moment and then continued. "I am not here to spy on you, if that's what you're implying." he told him quietly. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't said one word to me since the night you were winging acorns at Gimli! How do you explain that?"

"Simply. I had nothing to say."

"I don't believe that," Boromir began, and then stopped. He realized that Legolas had not really been speaking to anyone else in that time either.

"You really just don't talk when you don't want to?" he asked the elf.

"No, I don't. Why fill the air with meaningless chatter?"

Boromir was taken aback. "I've never met anyone who didn't make small talk."

"Now you have. So, at the risk of looking like an ass, shall we talk?" Legolas suddenly grinned at the tall man and Boromir found himself smiling back.

"Alright," he gave in. "What would you like to know?"

Legolas asked all manner of questions about Gondor and Boromir found himself opening up to the lithe young elf. He spoke of the White City in the sunlight, his love for his younger brother, Faramir, and was careful in all his answers and comments regarding his father. Legolas was quick to notice what the man did not say.

"If your father is anything like mine, he'll be a demanding sort, won't he?" the elf asked gently. Boromir looked away for a moment, confused by the question and not wanting to give the elf the wrong impression of the man who had shaped his life.

"It's just that he has so many concerns and worries!" he explained. "The safety of the West has depended on us for so long. He will not give in, to anything!" he almost spat.

Legolas nodded, sunlight glinting off his pale braids. "Just like mine." he said quietly. "But I'll bet he's a good man. Underneath?"

Boromir looked nearly ashamed as he muttered "Sometimes. Who is your father, Legolas?" he asked.

"Thranduil." Legolas said, looking away to the distance. "He can be called difficult at times. Sometimes he's a little tempestuous, I think you would say."

"Thranduil." Boromir murmured, recalling something Gimli had said. "Thranduil the Elven-King? Of Mirkwood?"

The elf turned to face the man, and was both startled and amused at the look in Boromir's eyes. His father's reputation was legendary, especially among the dwarves. "Yes, that's him." he replied calmly.

"You're a Prince, then?" Boromir asked, his thoughts moving in an entirely different directon. "Well, well."

Legolas shrugged. "There's not much to being a Prince when your father has no plans of ever not being a King. I try not to let it bother me too much." Boromir laughed, but thought he recognized in Legolas a bit of a kindred spirit. Another son of an ambitious father.

"Were you drilled to excellence from birth, then?" Boromir chuckled. Legolas recognized the bitter undertone in his voice.

"Probably from conception," he conceded, with a rueful grin.

Their conversation was light and easy from there on, as they continued to follow Gandalf. When they stopped to make camp for the night, Boromir was almost sorry to leave the elf. After their quick meal, Merry and Pippin were anxious for another lesson in swordplay, and Boromir was happy to comply. For an hour the hobbits banged away at him, coming close enough to give him a good bruise or two and give him hope for their progress.

Lying down that night, as far from Gimli's snores as he could get, Boromir found that he was exhausted. He stretched out, grateful that Legolas had the night watch, and looking forward to a good night's rest. He closed his eyes and drifted off, the small noises of the camp soothing to him.

_A mighty gift_. His father's voice suddenly rang in his ears. His eyes searched the mists, looking for the figure he knew must be there. _You promised me, Boromir!_ Something large and leathery flew by his head, its cry raucous in the stifling fog. Boromir ducked and rolled to the side.

"Father?" he cried. "Where are you? I must explain!" Scrambling to his feet, he gripped his great sword, fearful of attack. He gazed about him, searching for the tall and imposing figure.

_I must have it, Boromir! Do not fail me in this!_

"Father!" Boromir screamed into the dankness.

"Boromir!" he heard a voice behind him. The tone was almost caressing.

Suddenly he was awake. He shook off the slender hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see the concerned blue eyes of the elf. Legolas held up his hand in a quieting gesture, as Boromir heard the others stirring.

"It is fine. A snake found our friend warm and startled him." Legolas called over his shoulder.

Groans from the others told Legolas his lie had worked. He turned back to the shaking man.

"I'm sorry I couldn't wake you sooner." The elf's voice was a calm whisper in Boromir's ear. "I was on the other side of the wood."

"Up a tree, I'll bet," Boromir replied, trying to joke away his fear.

Legolas looked affronted for half a second, and then broke into a broad smile. "Yes, as a matter of fact. But we'll keep this between ourselves, shall we?"

Boromir grunted and nodded, an answering smile on his own face. Legolas saw the man's still shaking hands and covered them with his own. "Can you walk?" he asked, care fighting the amusement in his eyes.

"Legolas?" Merry called into the darkness. "What did you do with the snake?"

"I'm taking it away right now, my young friend. Go back to sleep."

Boromir nodded and the two of them moved away from the others, allowing them to go back to sleep. Legolas was surprised at the strong grip Boromir kept on his hand.

"Was it bad?" the elf asked. "What am I saying? Of course it was bad. Did you want to talk about it?"

Boromir shook his head. His hair was tousled from sleep and to Legolas he looked very vulnerable. Legolas nodded. He stared ahead and began speaking very quietly.

"When I was a child I had the night terrors. I still remember how very afraid I was of the Balrogs and fell beasts that filled my dreams."

Boromir turned to look at the elf. In the darkness he could almost swear that Legolas' eyes caught the starlight and glowed faintly.

"I was ashamed of that fear." Legolas continued. "I am the son of the great Thranduil. I think you understand what that was like."

"I think," Boromir broke off, and cleared his throat. "Yes, I do understand."

"We have a great evil with us, Boromir. Never forget that. It will work on us in ways we do not understand. But we must fight it. Always. Never be ashamed of that."

Boromir tried to speak, found that his lips were too dry. He licked them and tried again. "It was my father." he said simply.

Legolas looked at him with a face full of understanding and pity. "Never be ashamed of that, either."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The next morning Gimli woke to the sound of hobbits arguing. Pippin was telling Sam the amount of bacon he was frying was not enough to feed one of them, let alone four. Sam was emphasizing the importance of rationing. Gimli realized that if he wanted to eat, he'd better claim his share now. He stretched and scratched at his beard. Pippin noticed him and called him over.

"You tell him, Gimli. We have to be fed if we're going to continue on this quest!" Pippin exclaimed.

"Begging your pardon, Pip, but if we eat everything we have today, what'll we do tomorrow?"

Gimli looked gravely at the contents of the frying pan. "Well, while you do have a point there, lad, I think we can risk a bit more bacon. Don't worry, we can rustle up some small game through the day."

"Leave it to a dwarf to promise food." Legolas said, coming up to the fire and handing Sam a modest and bulging sack. "These should stretch breakfast." he told the hobbit.

"Mushrooms!" Pippin laughed as Sam pulled a fat specimen from the bag. "Well done, Legolas! Where did you find these beauties?"

"I noticed them last night. I thought we all might enjoy them."

"Thanks, Legolas!" Sam grinned, pulling out another pan.

"No fresh eggs to go with them?" Gimli asked innocently.

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "Meaning?" he asked.

"Just that you were up in the trees again last night. I heard 'em rustling. It's too bad you couldn't find eggs. Sam could have made omelettes."

Legolas turned from the dwarf. "Merry!" he called. The small head bobbed up from the stream. "I'll take some of those rocks now!"

"Coming right up!" Merry called back, finishing his morning ablutions.

Sam looked from one to the other. "I don't really think you need to start fighting over this. It's the wrong season for wild eggs."

Legolas looked at the worried hobbit. "I know that, Samwise. You might want to teach our friend Gimli a few things." Then he broke into a grin. "Don't worry. I'm only going to hold onto the rocks for luck."

"Luck?" Sam asked, looking puzzled.

"It's good luck to drop a rock on a dwarf." Legolas called over his shoulder as he headed to the stream. Once there he knelt down and scooped cold water on his face. He looked to where Merry was toweling off his hair.

"Leave me the drying cloth, please." he said, his fingers reaching back to untie his braids.

"Of course, Legolas," Merry replied, dropping it beside the elf. Stripping off his tunic, Legolas leaned over and began rinsing out his hair. Merry smiled at him and then returned to the camp. The delicious odor of cooking mushrooms greeted him.

"Mushrooms!" he said gleefully. "Where did they come from?"

"Legolas found them." Pippin told him. "Where is he? They're almost done. He won't want to miss them."

"He's washing his hair." Merry said simply, reaching for a chunk of bread. "They do smell fantastic, Sam."

"Washing his hair?" Gimli said, letting out a loud guffaw. "So our companion is a bit of a dandy, is he?"

"I wouldn't say that too loudly, Gimli" Gandalf said, taking the plate Sam offered him and settling on the grass. "Elves take their hair very seriously."

As Gimli continued to chortle, Boromir and Aragorn returned from scouting the area. Sam greeted them cheerfully and asked that they wait a few moments for their food. Aragorn, noticing that Sam had fed Frodo first of all, smiled and sat beside Gandalf. Boromir remained standing, looking about.

"What's the joke, friend Gimli?" Aragorn asked, noticing the grin on the dwarf.

"I've just discovered that Legolas has a little of the coxcomb about him." Gimli chuckled.

"He's down washing." Gandalf told the Ranger, chewing on a piece of bacon. "I don't think Gimli quite understands the situation. Will you explain while I finish this most excellent meal? Sam, you are a wonder!"

Sam blushed at the praise as Aragorn turned to Gimli. "Elves are fastidious, that's all. I think it's because their senses are greater than ours, if you take my meaning." He tapped the side of his nose. "And their hair is their greatest glory. Legolas would no more let his hair become matted and dirty than you would shave off your beard."

With a gasp, Gimli reached up to stroke the magnificent flow of hair that fell from his chin. "That's not funny, Aragorn! I have never shaved my face!"

Aragorn shrugged. "Legolas has never left his hair untended. It's the same sort of thing." He reached across Gimli to accept the plate Sam handed him. "I wouldn't tease him about it. You're likely to find a chunk of your beard missing."

Boromir filed away this new piece of information about the elf as he waited for his breakfast. Frodo, finished now, took out his pipe. Boromir looked about for a seat and decided to sit beside the hobbit. Frodo smiled at him and Boromir smiled back, his terrors of the night before pushed down in the bright morning light.

Sam had just given Boromir his meal when Legolas returned. Glancing up to say good morning to his new friend, he stopped, his words and his food forgotten.

_Who would have thought he'd that much muscle to him?_ Boromir thought. For despite the morning chill, Legolas had not put his tunic back on. Naked to the waist, Boromir's thoughts that the elf was slender, almost effeminate, were disproved. Lean and ropy muscles covered his arms, his chest and shoulders. His long and almost white hair flowed about his shoulders, reaching nearly to the small of his back. He had thrown the towel across one of his shoulders and carried his tunic and boots. His bare feet made no sound as he crossed the grass to the fire. He greeted his companions and sank gracefully to the ground.

Boromir felt a small tap at his elbow and jumped slightly. He looked around to see Aragorn, eyebrow raised, staring at him. He mumbled something and turned back to his food. If Legolas noticed the slight blush that stained his cheeks, he said nothing.

"Gimli has promised us fresh meat for this evening's meal," Legolas informed them, taking his plate from Sam. "I look forward to it."

Gandalf lit his pipe and nodded. "The hunting skills of the dwarves are legendary. It will be a nice change."

Gimli muttered something and then turned to Legolas. "You have a tangle behind your left ear."

Legolas' hand flew to his hair almost unconsciously, and then he laughed. "I haven't yet braided it, friend Gimli." Then he peered at the diminutive figure. "I believe you have a sparrow's nest just below your left eye."

Gimli stared at him for a moment. Then, to Sam surprise, he burst into laughter. "Very good, Master Elf. Very good." Legolas joined in. Boromir took the opportunity to look surreptitiously at the elf. Golden glints in the long hair that fluttered gently in the breeze, catching on the pointed ear. The supple neck, strong cords of muscles down the biceps and forearms, the hairless chest. Grey flecks in the clear blue eyes. For some reason he had the urge to run his fingers along the strong line of that jaw.

Shocked at himself, he passed his plate to Merry, who gratefully accepted the leftovers. Making an excuse to the others, he stood and wandered off to his gear. Automatically he began rolling up his blanket, packing his kit. What was wrong with him?

"Can I help?" Aragorn asked quietly, slipping up behind him. Boromir didn't turn his head, afraid Aragorn would see the blazing heat in his eyes.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Aragorn continued. "It happens quite often when one deals with elves. It's a perfectly normal reaction."

"Not where I come from," Boromir muttered. "It's just that he's, well, he's," the man hesitated, not sure how to put what he was feeling into words.

"He's absolutely beautiful." Aragorn said calmly. "He can't help it, it's the way he is. They all are. Men can find them overwhelming beyond all other beings. He took you by surprise for a moment, that's all. You'll get used to him in time."

"Is he going to be running around half naked all the time, then?" Boromir asked, surprising them both with his sudden anger. "He'll catch cold and slow us down or something."

Aragorn looked at Bormir with understanding. "Elves don't get sick," he replied. "This won't be such a shock the next time. Or I could speak to him about it, if you would prefer it."

"Gods, no!" Boromir exclaimed. "Just pass it off as me being tired or something, will you? Can we just forget this ever happened?"

"If you wish." He clapped a friendly hand on Boromir's shoulder. "Don't let it bother you, my friend."

Boromir sighed. He wished it didn't. But he had been drawn to the elf in a way he'd never felt before. Tying up his pack, he returned to the others to help get ready for the day's march. Legolas pulled him aside. Boromir was grateful that Legolas had dressed, even if he was still barefoot, his hair still loose.

"Are you alright?" the elf asked, concern written in his eyes. "I noticed you were sitting beside Frodo, I just wondered if it was the same problem as last night." He reached out and gripped Boromir companionably on the forearm. "I am here to help you if you need it."

Boromir realized that Legolas had completely misread the situation, and was glad to have something else to blame his preoccupation on.

"It was just for a moment." Boromir lied. He could feel the burn where Legolas' fingers pressed into his arm. "I thought I should move away, just to get myself under control." At least that part was true.

Legolas nodded. "We'll walk together today, you and I. I'll tell you about the Mirkwood and the spiders. It will do you good."

"Thanks," Boromir said, not sure if it would be good or not, but suddenly happy that they would be together for the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It was Legolas' turn to speak about his home. As they walked, Legolas described the Woodland Realm in glowing terms of affection. Gimli's remarks about the Mirkwood had been anything but complimentary, and Boromir was a bit surprised. But to Legolas it was home, and he obviously loved it. Boromir noticed that Legolas spoke of his father, the only family he had left, in much the same way that Boromir spoke of Denethor. It gave Boromir the courage to speak about his own father a bit more freely than he had before.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Boromir said, quietly. He glanced quickly at the elf who nodded his assent. Boromir went on. "Do you ever wish that you had been born ordinary?"

"Ordinary?" Legolas looked at the man. "I don't know if I understand you." Boromir flushed, unaccountably, but went on.

"Do you ever wish you had been born the son of a carter or a farmer? Someone who would just live an ordinary life."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "How did you know? There were times when I dreamed that I was the child of a lowly forester. Then I wouldn't have to sit through hours and days of council meetings. But there were times when I was proud and glad to be the son of the King as well."

Boromir nodded. "That's it, exactly. But then, I wonder if farmers and foresters demand perfection from their sons, as well."

"I expect all fathers want their sons to be more than they are." Legolas said.

"Stronger, faster, better. But, Legolas, did your father ever make you feel that you were enough, just the way that you were?"

Legolas thought for a moment. Memories of his father's disappointments in him came readily to mind, but he had to search for one of unconditional acceptance. Boromir took his silence for a denial.

"My father is proud of what I have accomplished," the man went on, "and of what I will accomplish. I wonder if he has ever been proud of me. I wonder if he will ever be proud of what I am doing now."

Legolas looked up sharply. "Boromir, what we do now is the most important thing that can be done. Your father must understand that. Had he been in council with us, he would have agreed to Gondor's part in it. You have his confidence, else why would he not come himself, or send another?"

"Faramir wanted to come." Boromir muttered.

"Your brother?" Legolas asked.

"Yes. Father would not let him. He said he would be swayed by the will of Wizards and Elves."

Legolas chose his words carefully. "Do you now feel that you were swayed?"

Boromir laughed bitterly. "Oh, yes. But not by Gandalf or Elrond. By the courage of Frodo. In that moment, Legolas, everything felt right." He sighed. Legolas reached over and took the man's hand, squeezed it.

"Then hold on to that moment, Boromir. That moment was truth, no matter what else you may feel now. That choice was the right one. Remember that you are not alone."

Boromir was touched and squeezed Legolas' hand back in gratitude. "Thank you, Legolas." He dropped the elf's hand and looked away. "I appreciate your advice. You do seem to have the knack of helping me set my mind back into the right paths."

Legolas smiled, and the light in his eyes lifted Boromir's heart. "You must miss your younger brother." The elf continued. "But I think your father made the right choice in sending you."

Boromir grunted. "You're very optimistic today."

Legolas shrugged. "Today is beautiful, I am with good companions, what more could I want."

Boromir thought about this for a moment. "Do you miss being with your own kind?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Legolas replied. "I miss the music most of all. Aragorn is not a bad singer, but the dwarf sounds like a bucket of rocks being dropped." They both laughed at that. "I haven't heard any songs from you, Boromir. Do the men of Gondor leave the music to the women?"

Boromir shifted the weight of the great shield he bore and smiled. "No, men do sing in Gondor, but lately it seems to be more dirges than happy tunes."

"I think we'll leave the dirges to the dwarf. Perhaps the sound of his voice will raise the dead." They both chuckled some more. "Go on, sing something for me. Lessen my homesickness." Legolas urged. "There must be something you know and it would help to pass the time. Even a child's lullaby will do."

"Very well, if you insist. I do recollect an epic ballad that may satisfy you."

Boromir began to sing softly in a voice deeper than Legolas expected. The ballad had a simple but martial tune. Soon the hobbits were clustered around him, listening intently as they walked. Boromir sang on , not knowing that ahead of him, Gandalf was grinning and humming along to himself.

"That was wonderful, Boromir," Pippin exclaimed, at the song's end. "Will you sing another?"

Boromir seemed both surprised and pleased at the hobbit's praise. He smiled awkwardly and looked at Legolas.

"Yes, by all means." Legolas said gaily. "You have a rich voice my friend, and it does one good to hear it."

Boromir felt a little foolish as he dredged through his memory for songs he knew, chose another and began.

At the end of the day, Boromir felt a little hoarse from the amount of singing he'd done. The hobbits had been enthraled with him. His sagas had been full of heroic deeds and glorious battles. Even now their heads were crammed with it. Boromir settled at the base of a large tree and stretched his long legs out to get comfortable. A slight rustling in the branches above him caught his attention. Crooking his neck he peered through the limbs until he caught sight of a booted foot. Smiling, he called up.

"Ho! Legolas!" He grinned. "What news?"

"The stars are wonderfully bright tonight," the elf replied. "Come up and see."

Boromir began laughing. "I haven't played in trees since I was a boy!"

"Hence your grim outlook." Legolas joked back. He swiftly descended and offered his hand to the man. "Come I dare you!"

""Then I must!" Boromir replied. He stood and let Legolas pull him up to the leafy bough. Again, he was amazed at the strength of the lithe elf.

"This way," Legolas said, leading his friend upwards. Boromir was nervous at the thinness of the limbs Legolas rested on. The elf seemed not to notice and urged the man to climb higher. With trepidation he followed. Reaching the top, he balanced himself precariously and looked up.

The night sky was ablaze with stars. Diamond sparks on the black velvet of the sky moved something within him. Boromir stared with admiration at them. The elf made a small sound of happiness, and Boromir turned to look at him. Legolas' face was full of rapture. Starlight glinted in his hair and eyes. Once again the elf's eyes seemed almost luminous. Boromir realized that he was holding his breath.

"I have heard," Legolas said softly, "that the sea is wondrous to look upon, and Valinor can break one's heart with it's beauty. But for me, there can never be anything to touch my soul like this."

Boromir felt privileged to share this moment with his friend. The naked joy on the elf's face against the backdrop of the night's splendor was a sight that would stay with him always.

His eyes bright in the starlight, Legolas turned to his companion. "Thank you, Boromir."

Boromir was so startled by this he nearly slipped. Legolas reached out to grab him, and the magic moment was broken. "For what?" Boromir asked, feeling foolish again. What would his father say if he injured himself falling out of a treetop? He started to laugh at himself.

Whatever Legolas had been about to say was interrupted by Aragorn's voice, calling in crisp Sindarin. Legolas called something back and shrugged. "Duty calls," he told the man simply, and began to descend through the branches.

Boromir followed, feeling as though something precious had been taken from him. Why had Aragorn called right then? Couldn't the Ranger, always so considerate of everyone's feelings, have waited just a few seconds longer? Irritated, he dropped heavily from the last branch. He could hear Legolas and Aragorn, speaking quietly. He thought he caught his name, but wasn't sure. He told himself that he was being irrational, but a small burst of laughter from Aragorn cut through him like a knife. All the lightheartedness he'd felt with Legolas disappeared in an instant. He arranged his blankets and lay down, seething with rage.

"You're not spending too much time with him, are you?" Aragorn asked, concerned. The Ranger was unaware of the effect his conversation was having on the man.

Legolas shrugged. "I don't think so. I am surprised at what we have in common. He is a good man facing difficult choices in his life. Thank you for suggesting I get to know him."

"Just be careful, Legolas."

"Of what?"

"Of getting in too deep." Aragorn said, cryptically. "He's a man, when all is said and done."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "So are you. Should I be worried?"

Aragorn laughed at that. But he wouldn't explain why.

Legolas gathered his kit and moved to the tree Boromir was stretched beneath. He shook out his blanket, and spread it next to the man. In his present irrational mood, it made Boromir even angrier. He sat up.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Legolas!" he hissed. Legolas looked up at him, honestly surprised.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, bewilderment on his handsome face.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid. You don't have to keep an eye on me every second."

"I was going to go to sleep, actually. Gimli is on watch, so his snoring won't keep me awake."

"Oh" Boromir stammered, confused. "I just thought..."

"You thought what? That I have been spending these past days with you because Aragorn ordered me to?"

"No! Well, maybe." Boromir started, but Legolas, angry now, began to roll up his blanket.

"Never mind. If my presence offends you, I have other places to go." He stormed off and swung himself up a nearby tree. The branches rustled furiously for a moment, then all was still.

Boromir slumped down under his tree again and held his head in his hands. Pippin looked over at him but was whacked back down by Merry. Boromir felt alone, as he hadn't in days. Since Legolas had begun staying with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Leaves fluttered in his wake as Legolas settled himself in the branches of the tree. He leaned back against the trunk, stretching his legs along the bough and took a deep breath. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the cool breeze of the night on his hot cheeks.

_How dare he!_ The thought continued to race through his mind. The elf forced his muscles to stillness, fighting the rage within him, the urge to strike out. The tone of Boromir's voice still persisted in his ears, drowning out the crackle of the fire and the small sounds Gimli made as he prepared for his watch. _How dare he!_

Narrowing his eyes, Legolas pictured Boromir's almost pleading face during the day's march as he spoke of the demands his father had placed on him. The man's vulnerability had touched something in the elf, making him feel protective toward him. He had not thought that underneath the toughened exterior of the man lay an almost boyish spirit. Boromir's willingness to share his emotional burdens with him had created a bond between them, Legolas felt. That Boromir had so misunderstood his motives, thinking that Legolas would misrepresent friendship as a way to keep the man under control for Aragorn, grated against every nerve.

Almost unconsciously, Legolas pulled a leaf down and began shredding it. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples. He had so looked forward to a night of uninterrupted rest, without the raw sound of the dwarf's snoring keeping him from sleep. Now he pulled apart another leaf with fingers that shook with fury. He felt betrayed, awake, enraged! He had offered honest friendship to Boromir, and had it thrown back at him.

Legolas closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the tree he roosted in. Dropping the bits of leaf, he ran his fingers over the rough bark of the branch, its ridges and cracks soothing under his touch. He turned his face to the sky, listening to the whisper of the gentle wind shaking the great crown. Breathing deeply, he could smell the delicate sap, underneath the comforting scent of the smoke from the fire. The elf opened his eyes, looking for the stars between the cracks in the foliage. He tried again to calm himself in the beauty of the night.

He began to hum, softly, not wanting to disturb the others. He could hear Gandalf rolling over, trying to get himself comfortable. Pippin whispered to Merry, and Legolas tried to block out the sounds, not wanting to eavesdrop. Aragorn lay looking at the stars, and the elf could tell that the man was tired, but not yet asleep. Frodo's regular breaths were soon followed by Sam's. Legolas smiled at that, knowing that Sam could not rest if there were a chance that his beloved master might need him. Gimli lit his pipe and the flavor of pipeweed was added to the night.

Boromir turned restlessly, Legolas heard him heave a sigh. The sound went through him, cutting his anger with pity. Legolas tried to harden his heart, tried to ignore the unintentional plea. Boromir may have thought better of that angry hiss, but Legolas was still raging. No, he thought, searching his feelings, he was hurt.

The elf shifted slightly, easing his back against the rough trunk of the tree. Still humming to himself, he thought back over the past few days. Boromir's face appeared in his mind, the pained expression in the blue eyes as he spoke of his father. The handsome features had fallen into an attitude of despair. Legolas was surprised at himself. Boromir was handsome?

Remembering how Boromir had looked when he was happy, Legolas had to conclude that he was. The wide and easy smile, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he laughed. The richness of the laugh itself. Even the timbre of his voice while he was singing.

Legolas shook his head, opened his eyes. Boromir had rejected his friendship. Whether or not he was attractive had nothing to do with it. Legolas was angry because he had tried to ease the man's fears, tried to comfort him. He may have begun at Aragorn's request, but there was an intensity and depth to Boromir that Legolas admired. He could not have spoken with him so long and intimately if he had not.

Suddenly he stopped humming. Maddeningly, he realized that the tune was one that Boromir had sung for him earlier that day! Why was the man so much on his mind! Aragorn was a closer companion, his friendship with the Ranger had been built on many adventures and years. He had always respected Gandalf and enjoyed the Wizard's company. The hobbits were delightfully ingenuous and Sam's devotion to Frodo had raised him high in Legolas estimation. Even Gimli was clever with words and usually had a joke at the ready. So why did the man from Gondor seem to fill his mind to the exclusion of the others?

Boromir listened for any sound from the tree. He squirmed in his blanket yet again, trying to get comfortable, yet knowing that his thoughts would keep him more awake than the lumps underneath him. Breathing deeply, he turned his head, hoping that Legolas would come down from his sanctuary in the branches and yet also afraid that he would.

Gimli poked the fire with a long stick, sending sparks flying upwards, little glowing specks in the night. He smoked in silence, listening for something other than the regular sounds of the forest. He heard Gandalf's gentle snores, a soft rumbling, and the regular exhalations of the hobbits. Aragorn was still awake, he could tell, lost in his own thoughts. The elf was still, but too still. Boromir continued to toss about, restless and sleepless. Gimli nodded once to himself, stood up and stretched and walked quietly over to the man.

Boromir sat up and pushed the hair out of his eyes at the dwarf's approach. Gimli sat beside him and took another draw at his pipe. Blowing a thoughtful smoke ring, he looked at Boromir and shook his head.

"We dwarves have a saying. Never go to sleep in the vicinity of an angry elf." His scratched at his beard. "It's a good saying."

There was a gentle rustle as Legolas climbed out of his perch. His feet were silent as he crossed the clearing. The firelight flickered over his face, shadowing his eyes. Gimli exhaled again, wreathing the elf in smoke, then he grinned.

Legolas leaned over and whispered in a savage voice, "We elves have a saying, too. Mind your own business, dwarf!" Boromir flinched at the elf's ferocity. Gimli merely smiled and stood up. Taking his pipe from his lips, he regarded the elf with a steady gaze.

"Don't wake the hobbits. Frodo needs his sleep." He turned away and returned to his seat by the fire, quite placid.

Legolas turned his back to Boromir. Scrambling to his feet, the man reached out and grabbed the elf by the shoulder. Twisting around, Legolas looked at him with unreadable eyes. Boromir motioned toward the stream.

"Please," he whispered. "I need to talk to you."

Legolas nodded, surprising himself and Boromir, and they picked their way over stones and roots to a place by the bank. Boromir tried to get his thoughts in order, tried to decide what he wanted to say. He was shocked when Legolas spoke first.

"I want you to know that whatever you think, I offered my friendship to you because I like you. If you choose not to believe that, I cannot help you."

Boromir half closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he opened them again and looked steadily through the dark to Legolas' shadowed face. "I know that now. I'm sorry for what I said and did."

Legolas nodded, raising an eyebrow. "I accept your apology. May I ask what changed your mind?"

Boromir was grateful that the darkness hid the blush that spread over his cheeks. "I thought about it," he stammered. "I was too quick to judge. Of course you and Aragorn will have other things to discuss."

"Aragorn is a good man, and has been my friend for many years. We don't always agree, but we have learned to deal with our quirks. I hope that you and I may have the same kind of friendship someday." Even as he spoke the words, Legolas felt that they did not quite convey what he meant to say.

Boromir looked away. He pushed down the sudden and hot bolt of jealousy that filled his guts. He forced his face back into a smile.

"I would like that very much, Legolas."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews! They have been most helpful.

A dense mist rolled through the woods the next dawn, silently settling on the sleeping companions, moistening hair, clothing and blankets with heavy dew. Sam grunted and rolled over, a sharp stone underneath his hip waking him. Seeing his master damp, he sat up quickly, shook the wet hair from his face and looked immediately to the fire. Aragorn sat beside it, keeping the embers burning. To Sam's surprise and delight, the kettle already boiled over the hot coals. Aragorn, his dark hair lank and sticking to his forehead, looked over and smiled at the hobbit.

"I thought you might want to make tea for Frodo right away," he said knowingly. Sam shifted from under his dewy blanket, reached around to pull his jacket out from under the bundle he'd used as a pillow, stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. He grinned at Aragorn, pushed his hair back and went to the packs stored under a blanket beneath a tree. He stopped for a moment to give Bill a quick pat on the nose, happy to see that the pony was comfortable and well.

While Sam was busy with the breakfast, Aragorn began to wake the others. Pippin and Merry, groggy and tired, stretched like kittens underneath their blankets, wiping sleep and water from their eyes. Gandalf was instantly awake when Aragorn called him, sitting up and frightening the dwarf, who slumbered beside him. Gandalf chuckled and poked the logy dwarf, then wrung out the end of his hat and made his way to the fireside. Gimli staggered behind him, coughing loudly and clearing his throat.

Legolas had woken when Aragorn spoke to Sam and given a gentle shake to the sleeping Boromir. He noticed that the man had curled up around his sword and horn. Legolas paused, wondering for a moment if he had slept through another of Boromir's disturbing dreams. He shook Boromir again, calling his name in a low voice. Boromir opened one cornflower eye and regarded his friend.

"It's going to be a wet day, isn't it?" he asked, somewhat redundantly.

Legolas nodded, reaching out to help the man up. "I want to ask you something."

Boromir looked surprised. "Certainly." He stood up, pulling down his tunic, wiping his face on the edge of his great cloak.

Legolas sniffed. "Don't say anything about last night to Gimli."

Boromir blinked in surprise. "Why would I?"

"Just don't."

"I wasn't going to. Why?"

"Because the only thing worse than a wet dwarf is a smug dwarf."

Boromir laughed and stretched out his arms. "I wonder what Sam's making this morning?" he asked as they ambled to the fire. Legolas sat beside Aragorn, who raised an eyebrow at him. Legolas nodded at him, and turned to Gandalf. Sam, busy at his cooking pots, was stirring furiously and ladling out dishes. Gimli took his and peered into it, eyes still half closed.

"What's this we're having, then, lad?" he asked.

"Er, it's oatmeal." Sam said quickly, turning back to his pot.

"Oatmeal?" Gimli asked, in a disgusted voice. He sniffed at the bowl, his nostrils flaring. "What kind of breakfast is that? Where's the meat?" He poked at the mixture with his spoon.

"Oatmeal is fine, Sam." Gandalf said, savoring his. "Warm and quick. A fine choice."

Pippin was spooning his into his mouth quickly, as Merry said, "Bacon would be good, as well."

Pippin swallowed a hot mouthful and nodded. "Bacon would be even better."

"Oatmeal is what you have, Peregrin." Gandalf said, knitting his brows together. "Enjoy it."

Pippin looked at the others with wide eyes. "Why I am I always the one to be squelched? That's what I'd like to know. Gimli brought it up!" He turned his attention back to his food when the rest of the company merely laughed at him. Gimli grumbled under his breath, too low for anyone to make out his words, but loud enough that everyone understood his objections. Honour thus served, he began to eat.

The mist swelled and turned itself into a drizzle that soaked everyone. Resignedly, Aragorn put out the comfort of their small fire, and with many sighs the companions picked up their packs and began their long march once again. The grey sky was oppressive and the rain weighed heavily on spirits as well as clothing.

"Legolas!" Gandalf called. The elf instantly left Boromir to sprint to the old wizard's side. Boromir did not feel as deserted as he had the night before. Watching the light steps of his friend, he understood that Legolas's reaction was instinctive. Reaching the old man, Legolas held out an arm as support, an unconscious gesture. Gandalf waved him off grumpily.

"I want you to take point. Your eyes will see better than any other's in this mess." He waved an arm about in frustration. Legolas grinned, in spite of himself.

"Of course." He gathered himself up to dash ahead and scout out the territory.

"Wait!" Gandalf called, and Legolas stopped and spun around. "This will get worse. See if you can find us a decent place to camp tonight. I'd like some shelter for my poor old bones."

Legolas laughed derisively. "Your old bones will outlast all of ours, Mithrandir," he jested. At Gandalf's nod he loped off and was quickly out of sight.

Gimli walked beside Boromir, grumbling about rain and rust. Boromir shifted his great shield once again, and nodded absently. He was distracted by Pippin, who walked backwards and gazed curiously at the man. Merry spoke sharply to his cousin, but Pippin would not turn about.

"What is it, Pip?" Boromir asked, amusement mixing with the question in his voice. "Have I grown horns?"

Pippin snorted at that. "Now that you mention it, Boromir, I was wondering something."

"Ask away, boy." Boromir said, grinning impishly.

"Your shield. Is it very heavy?"

Boromir cocked his head. "Not very. But I have been carrying it for a good long while. Why?"

Pippin's smiled broadly. "Would two hobbits be able to carry it, do you think?" Merry smacked him in the arm, but Pippin ignored him.

"Do you think you're going to be attacked? I promise you, the shield would be put to better use in your defense if I carried it."

Gimli began laughing in a low voice. Boromir turned to his companion. "You doubt me, Master Gimli?" he asked harshly.

Gimli laughed harder, his eyes twinkling. "Not at all, lad. I'm picturing the boys carrying that great thing. In my mind's eye, all I see are two curly heads and four furry feet, sticking out from behind it."

Boromir threw his head back and let out a long guffaw. Gimli joined him, and Merry shrugged. He turned away, but Pippin would not be deterred.

"What I was thinking," he continued, his eyes bright, "was that Merry and I could carry it for a while. If we carried it over our heads, it would work well to keep the wet off."

At this matter of fact statement, Boromir and Gimli laughed even harder. Tears ran from their eyes and mixed with the rain on their cheeks. Standing still, they hung on to each other and continued to laugh. Aragorn, Frodo and Sam quickly caught up with them and stared. Merry tried to explain, but the man and dwarf continued to laugh. Soon Aragorn and the hobbits had joined in.

"They'd look like a ruddy mushroom!" Gimli quipped, setting them off again. Gandalf, standing alone, listening, smiled.

Pippin defended his idea. "I think it would work," he stated.

Spirits raised, the Fellowship marched on through the rain. Every so often the tall form of the elf would materialize out of the murk and report to Gandalf. Then, with a quick word to Aragorn or Boromir, he would disappear into the gloom once more.

In the early evening, Legolas strode back to the group. He spoke quickly to Gandalf, gesturing toward his left. As the rest of the group gathered around them, they heard Gandalf grunt an assent. The elf quickly removed a pack from Bill and adjusted it on his own back, careful of the bow and quiver strapped there. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, much to the hobbit's surprise. Then Legolas grinned at his weary companions, turned, and sped off once again.

"He's found a place for us to spend the night." Gandalf said wearily. "He's gone ahead to get things ready. Another hour's walk and we should find a fire and some hot food."

"Elvish cooking," Gimli spat. "Leaves and bark."

Boromir stared at Gimli in surprise. "We were well fed in Imladris," he protested. "Roast meat, good bread and ale."

The Ranger pulled Bill around and started to walk in the direction the elf had run. "I wouldn't expect that tonight, Boromir," he said gently. "As elves go, Legolas is not a very good cook."

"I would have gone with him." Sam volunteered. "I could have had a decent meal together in an hour." Sam's gaze lingered on Frodo's pale face. Aragorn saw the concern that flickered in Sam's eyes. Frodo did seem wan and tired.

"You couldn't have kept up with him, Sam." Gandalf admonished him. "That's why I sent him ahead. When one travels with elves, it doesn't hurt to take advantage of their abilities."

"It'll be twig soup, I guarantee it." Gimli grumbled. "Elves will live on air, if they have nothing else. They forget that the rest of us need sustenance."

"He won't really make us eat bark, will he, Strider?" Pippin asked, worriedly. Sam was mentally going over the inventory of their packs, deciding what he would feed Frodo when they reached the camp.

Boromir stuck his chin out defiantly. "Even if it's just hot tea and bread, it will be something," he remarked. "I think it was good of Legolas to think of us."

Gimli snorted. "It was good of him, lad. Did you see the smile on him? He's having the time of his life!"

"He just can't cook." Aragorn interjected. "Don't get your hopes up."

Pippin and Merry sighed. Heads down, they continued to trudge through the rain, leaning forward, occasionally brushing wet hair back or pulling up the collars of their jackets.

The outcropping of rocks emerged slowly out of the gathering dark. Each squelchy step of their weary feet brought them closer, as the rocks rose before them. A soft, familiar scent of woodsmoke floated on the breeze. Even Bill seemed to sense that rest and comfort were close at hand and picked up his hooves a little higher.

"Legolas?" Gandalf called. "Where are you?"

"This way!" He motioned with both hands. "Come and warm up."

Gimli raised his head and smelled the air. "Is that rabbit?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"I found a few." Legolas admitted. He led them to a space under an overhang of stone. "It may be a little cramped, but we should all be able to sleep dry tonight."

Several rabbits roasted on spits over the fire. Legolas had gathered wood, boiled tea, and cleared an area large enough for them to sleep in. A pot bubbled, it's contents thick and viscous. With sighs and exclamations of happiness, the companions began to divest themselves of soaked cloaks and jackets and gather around the fire.

"You're burning that rabbit, Legolas." Aragorn pointed out, as juices from the spitted carcass fell into the flames and hissed. The elf jumped and moved to turn the rabbit. Sam got there before him.

"I'll take care of this, Legolas." Sam said, quickly rotating the spits. The aroma of roasting meat cheered them all.

"What _is_ this?" Gimli asked, peering into the cooking pot. Fat bubbles made their way to the top and burst lazily, sending spatters of brown goop down the side of the pot. Legolas pushed the dwarf out of the way and stirred it. Gimli raised his eyebrows and reached for the spoon. "Let me taste."

"It's mush." Aragorn said resignedly. "It may have started out as soup, but now it's mush."

Gimli blew on the contents of the spoon, and tentatively licked the end. The others watched with fascination as he looked upwards, then ate the rest. He chewed for a moment, rolling it about in his mouth. Pippin realized he was holding his breath.

"Not bad." Gimli admitted. He nodded and reached for another taste. Pippin exhaled gratefully.

"Mush and rabbit." Gandalf sighed. "Pour me a hot cup of tea, Boromir, there's a good lad."

Boromir gave a start of surprise. Usually Gandalf had one of the hobbits bring his tea. He put his shield on top of his pile of belongings and went to the fire. He glanced at the bubbling mess, raised an eyebrow and poured the tea.

Legolas and Sam served up the dinner. The exhaustion of the day seemed to slip away as they chewed thoughtfully on Legolas' 'soup'. Warmed by the fire, comforted by the joy of being dry, they joked as they ate. Legolas laughed heartily as Boromir described Pippin's shield idea. To make his point, when he had finished off the last of the rabbit, Pippin brought the shield, and he and Merry lifted it over their heads. Frodo, holding his sides and laughing, fell backwards off the stone he was sitting on. Boromir, watching the play of emotions on Sam's face, was fascinated as concern, a brief flash of anger, and then contentment came and went. Frodo had been silent most of the day, his burden harder than the others. This reminder of his true self did them all good.

Stretching out, toasting his feet at the fire, Gandalf lit his pipe. His eyes twinkled as he looked at the Ranger. Aragorn smiled at him, and lit his own pipe. The hobbits quickly did the same, and Gimli reached for his own.

"Here we go again," Legolas muttered.

"I think you should tell us a tale, Aragorn." Gandalf said affably. "I think the hobbits would enjoy hearing of your first taste of our Master Elf's cooking." Legolas twisted his head around to look at the old wizard. Gimli started to chuckle. Boromir turned away from the fire to look at the elf. His eyes were wide. Then an involuntary smile lit up his face.

"Go ahead, Aragorn." The elf shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

The Ranger smiled, and puffed a few times. Pulling the pipe from his lips, he smiled, looked at Legolas and began.

"We were on an errand for Elrond." His eyes sparkled in the red glow of the fire. "We were well provisioned, and on foot. So the time came for us to camp for the night. Legolas offered to cook for us, while I went to scout out our route for the next day. It seemed a fair trade, so off I went." He paused to draw from the pipe once again and chuckled as he exhaled. Smoke wreathed his face. "When I returned, I was hungry, for we had been traveling hard all day." He stopped, and looked at Legolas, who had a curious smile on his face. The elf nodded for him to continue.

"What I came back to was some charcoal on a stick, a burned pot, and the smell of burning hair."

Boromir's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He turned his eyes to the elf who was self-consciously fondling the end of one of his braids. Gimli was silent, as the hobbits made small sounds of shock.

"He had forgotten the spit needed to be turned. While trying to salvage some of the meat, a spark jumped up and landed on his shoulder, setting one of his braids alight. In the confusion of trying to put it out, he kicked over the pot, spilling most of it into the fire, and letting the rest burn up." Aragorn was laughing now. The hobbits, seeing the look of amusement on Legolas' face, started to chuckle as well. Boromir tried to hide the small smile on his face. The idea of Legolas ruining dinner to save his hair was ludicrous.

Gimli, however, seemed to take a different view of the situation. He nodded sagely. "Of course. If my beard went up, I'd do the same thing."

This pushed Boromir over the limit, and he couldn't hold back his laughter any longer.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Fed and with his boots dry, Boromir was content as he walked around the small camp. The close quarters kept the air warm and the fire burned down, throwing dim and reddish shadows on the rock overhang above.

In the bustle of arranging sleeping places, Gimli had put himself on the far side of the hobbits, farthest from the rock wall. Boromir had silently approved of the position. If they were to be threatened, he had no doubts that the doughty dwarf would protect his small companions in an instant. Pippin did not see this aspect of it.

"Gimli!" he protested. "Are you going to sleep in that chain mail?"

"Peregrin!" Gandalf warned from the other side of the fire.

"But, Gandalf, he clanks!"

Merry muttered under his breath and threw a blanket over Pippin. Gimli chuckled and stretched, amused. The exhausted hobbits had gone to sleep almost immediately. Their small bodies cuddled closely together reminded Boromir of a basket of puppies he had had once as a small boy. He smiled softly at the memory.

Soon Gimli's regular snores reverberated in the moist, warm air. Gandalf and Aragorn had stretched out next to each other. Legolas fussed with his own blankets, gently shaking the bits of leaves and twigs from them. Pleased with his work, he arranged Boromir's kit next to his own. With the soft sounds of the others and the crackling of the fire in his ears, he pulled his comb out, picked his way around to the fire, sat cross legged beside it and started on his hair.

Boromir, with a strange tingle in his temples, sat down beside him. Legolas smiled warmly at him as he loosed his braids. Boromir grinned at the waves the tight plaits had created, so different from the sleekness of it's usual arrangement. Reflected light from the fire caused it to sparkle and glow with a deep gold. He found himself mesmerized by the movement of the comb, the graceful hands of the elf. He had to fight the urge to run his own fingers through those glorious tresses.

"I could stay up with you, if you like." Legolas offered, pulling at a small tangle.

Boromir felt his heart begin to pound but kept his face impassive. Irritated at his reaction, he watched the elf in silence for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. While company would be nice, the elf had done more than any of them that day. He fought down his longing to spend the night just gazing at the beauty of his friend.

"No," he said in a tight voice, "you've had a trying day and need your sleep."

"I don't, actually." Legolas told him, retying the thong on his braid. "I'm good for another day or two."

"But you were everywhere today!" Boromir replied, surprised. He peered closely at his friend. "Gimli was right, you are having the time of your life!" he quietly chided the elf.

Legolas looked at him sternly for a second, then a warm smile lit up his face. "I'm not really. But, Boromir, it was so good to run today!" The reflection of sparks danced in his eyes. "Sometimes I just need to run, to climb. You may find it silly, but there are times that walking wearies me so!" He quickly braided the remaining hair and gave it a final smoothing with his fingers.

Boromir turned to look back at the fire, trying to hide his grin. He felt Legolas continue to stare at him.

"What?" he asked, turning to see the fascinated look on the elf's face. He returned his gaze candidly. Suddenly Legolas reached out and ran the fingers of one hand gently across the bristly surface of Boromir's unshaven jaw.

"Does it itch?" he asked.

A blaze of white heat ignited in Boromir's gut. Unprepared, he lurched back, pulling away, gasping silently. Legolas dropped his hand and raised an eyebrow.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

With electric sparks still tingling in his skin and the earthy scent of the elf's hair in his nostrils, Boromir shook his head mutely. He stood up.

"Go to bed, Legolas," he said in a raspy voice. "I'll shave in the morning."

"You don't have to." Legolas said coldly, standing and stretching. "Don't set your feet on fire." Boromir looked down to discover his boot was smoldering. Muttering to himself, he stepped carefully around the recumbent Gimli and the hobbits to stand under the stars.

The last of the cloud cover was blowing away in the brisk clear wind, showing the pale moon overhead. Boromir took several deep breaths, appalled and thrilled at the mix of lust and shame raging within him. He ambled about, gathering bits of wood, absently wiping wet dirt and leaf litter off his hands.

He could still feel the gentle touch of the elf's fingers along his cheek. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The desire that had flared at that light stoke terrified him. Legolas was his friend, yes, but the attraction he felt for the elf was beyond anything he had ever experienced before.

He thought again of Aragorn's words. "It's just the way he is." Deep in his chest, he felt a strange sort of agony settle. Legolas said he was ordinary. Perhaps all of this was only his fancies getting the better of him. Elves were not men, and Legolas' innocent touch had been just that. Innocent. All else had been in his mind. The ache in his throat began to burn at the thought of what the elf must think of him now. He silently began to curse himself.

The creak of a branch in the wind reminded him of his duty. He listened carefully, hearing nothing more than the wind gently keening. He forced his mind back to his task, willing his heart to slow and his cheeks to cool.

A stirring by the makeshift hearth caught his attention. A small form crept from the pile of hobbits and picked its way to where the man stood. Frodo stretched and breathed deeply. Boromir smiled at him, hoping that his muddled feelings didn't show on his face.

"You can't sleep?" he asked in a husky voice.

Frodo shook his head and stretched again. "The air was too close. I needed a breath of something fresher."

Boromir nodded and looked to the sky again.

"There is something I would speak to you about, Boromir." Frodo continued in a serious voice. Boromir stiffened. "It's about Merry and Pippin."

"What of them?" Boromir asked. "They are well, aren't they?" Concern filled his voice.

"Oh yes, that's not it. You've been a good friend to them. You have taken them under your wing and I thank you for it." Frodo said simply. "I know you will keep them safe."

Boromir shrugged. "It's easy to like them."

Frodo looked back at him steadily. "You're a good man, Boromir." Then he shivered in the cool night air.

Boromir pulled the cloak from his shoulders. "If you catch a chill, Frodo, your Sam will have my head!" He wrapped the cloak around the diminutive figure and led him back to the fire where he fetched the last of the tea for the hobbit. As Frodo leaned forward to accept it, the ring treacherously slipped from beneath his shirt and glinted in the firelight. It caught Boromir's eye and he stared at it. Frodo saw the subtle change on the man's face and reached up to cover the ring.

His father's voice rang in his ears. _A mighty gift. _ _It was so bright_, Boromir thought. Brighter than the sun. Almost as bright as the sparks in Legolas hair as he combed through the golden waves. The thought of the elf brought a warmth to his chest. His face began to tingle, the ring momentarily forgotten in the memory of that other fire.

Frodo saw the man's eyes soften. The hard set of Boromir's face relaxed. He sat beside the hobbit, one hand absently rubbing his jaw.

They spoke of mundane things for a while. Aragorn got up to take the watch. Tired and oddly happy, Boromir stepped over Legolas and lay down.

"That was very well done." The elf whispered softly in his ear.

The heat in Boromir's throat blazed up again. "Don't you ever stop watching me?" he whispered back, half angry, half exhilarated.

"I was waiting for you." Legolas whispered again, apprehensively. "I wanted to tell you something."

Aragorn's dark head appeared over the elf's shoulder. "Legolas! Boromir!" he hissed. "Can't this wait until morning?"

"I don't think so," Boromir replied softly.

"Then take it outside! The others need their sleep."

The pair quietly walked through the night, away from the rock shelter. "I'm sorry if I acted inappropriately," the elf said bluntly. "I was curious as to how it felt. Aragorn always complains about the itch. I have no beard, you see," he explained, offering his own cheek for inspection..

Hesitantly, Boromir raised his hand. Then, giving into the impulse, he placed his fingers behind the pointed ear and ran his thumb along the smooth ivory skin of Legolas' jaw.

He was not prepared for the way the elf closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. Or the way his own mouth went suddenly dry. Boromir traced the line once again and then pulled his hand back.

"Oh!" Legolas sighed softly. "I didn't realize." He looked into Boromir's eyes, and then, flustered, lowered his own. Boromir felt his heart leap. "It is a rather intimate gesture, isn't it?" He looked away.

Boromir swallowed hard, thankful for the darkness that hid the yearning he knew was in his eyes. He tried, jokingly, to reassure his agitated friend.

"It's alright. About earlier, I mean. You startled me, that's all." he lied. "I don't recommend that you try it on Gimli, though."

"Oh," Legolas said again. Confusion crossed the elf's features. "I guess we should get back then." he said.

"You go ahead. I'll catch up in a few minutes." Boromir shredded a few sticks before returning, giving it to Aragorn, calling it kindling.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

If Aragorn guessed at what had brought a distracted Legolas and grim Boromir back to the campsite, he wisely kept his own counsel. He was careful not to notice that the pair had spent the remainder of the night assiduously pretending to sleep. In the hushed blue light before the dawn Boromir had risen and gone to fetch water and wood.

Once Boromir was out of sight, Legolas got himself up. He nodded silently to Aragorn as he left the overhang and climbed the stones of their temporary shelter. Standing perfectly still on the slippery rock he watched the sunrise, his mind in turmoil. Sleep had been impossible for him, and any rest he might have found was ruined by the tense, stiff man beside him. After an eternity of listening to Boromir's ragged breathing, he had been relieved when Boromir left.

Another day of walking stretched before him. Suddenly he felt as if he would scream in frustration. He jumped down from his perch, angry at himself, angry at Boromir and angry at the world. He passed Aragorn, reached his gear and donned it furiously. Aragorn watched him, compassion in his blue eyes.

"I'm going to scout ahead, Aragorn," the elf told his friend.

Aragorn nodded. "Good idea. Should we wait for you?"

Legolas shrugged. "No need. I'll find you."

Aragorn frowned at that. "Don't be gone too long."

Legolas muttered something in Sindarin, too low for Aragorn to hear properly. It sounded like a curse, though, and then the elf was gone.

Aragorn shook his head and began waking the Fellowship.

Legolas scrambled through the trees and scrub brush, heedless of the dew and remaining raindrops on leaf and branch. He pushed himself, breaking from the cover of the woods, and speeding across the low hills, willing the heat he felt to leave him, wishing that he could run all the way to the mountains.

But dereliction of duty was something that Thranduil had never tolerated in his son, and Legolas knew that he would return to the others as soon as he calmed himself down. His feet slowed a bit, his boots spattered with mud from his unrestrained footfalls in the damp ground. The clear blue sky above and the warmth in the wind told him it would be a beautiful day. He breathed in deeply, continuing his run, but turning to circle the camp. At least he could still be alone for a little while, searching for any threat to his companions.

If he could concentrate on his task, that is, instead of the peculiar sensations that ran through him when he thought about Boromir, about that caress.

For that was what it had felt like. The gentleness in that hard, sword-calloused hand was startling. No one had touched him like that since his mother's death. He berated himself, for putting himself and Boromir into such a position. No wonder the man had jumped away when he'd recklessly stroked his jaw. Boromir was not Aragorn, not raised to the ways of the elves. He did not have the years of solid friendship behind him. Aragorn would have playfully batted his hand away, endured his touch stoically, told him to grow his own beard. Nothing like that horrid and embarrassed jolt.

The elf loped past the treeline again, searching for signs of any pursuit in the wood. Nothing. He heard birds overhead and the buzz of insects, but no step or sound of anything following their trail. Stopping for a moment, he quickly climbed into a tree, his movements fluid. Reaching the top he scanned the horizon for any movement. Still nothing.

He cursed himself again, recollecting the way he had brushed out his hair before the man. He had felt free and comfortable with him. He had half considered asking Boromir to comb the back for him. What would the man have done then?

Sighing, he paused. Breathing deeply, he felt the tang of the leaves in his nostrils. Somewhere nearby a squirrel chittered, scolding. He smiled to himself. And then it hit him again. That prickling in the base of his spine.

_Stop it!_ he told himself. Somewhere, just on the edge of his awareness, was evil. The evil that Frodo carried. It was that evil that was important, not this foolish fancy for the man from Gondor. He had pledged his life to Frodo's protection, not a pleasure trip across country. Boromir could still be a threat to Frodo, Legolas realized. Perhaps more than the others he understood the pressure the man felt. Legolas knew what it was to have a domineering father. Boromir's nightmares, the gloom that sometimes overtook him, all pointed to the pain he was feeling at disappointing that father.

The ring would work its evil on Boromir if it could. It would play to the man's need to please that father. Legolas would not help his friend by indulging himself in fantasies and daydreams. Boromir needed his support, not his distractions. Needed to know he was not alone. Aware that he would have to apologize once again, Legolas slipped down from the tree and continued his run.

If Boromir was unusually silent as they packed up for the day's march, no one commented on it. He spent a few moments with Bill, checking the pony's hooves, scratching his ears. Legolas returned just as they were shouldering their packs. He smiled at Boromir, a genuine smile, and went straight to Aragorn. He nodded mutely, answering the unspoken question in the Ranger's eyes.

"Nothing to report," he began. "It's just us out here."

"That's good news," Merry said, relieved.

"Tonight, when we stop, I think I shall show you a bit of the defense style of the elves." Legolas continued, smiling down at the hobbit. "It may be useful for you to know."

Gimli snorted. "Going to teach them to stand in trees and shoot arrows?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Begging you pardon, Legolas," Sam broke in, "you don't use a sword, do you?"

Aragorn laughed and took Bill's leading rein from Boromir. "He uses knives, my little peacemaker."

"Sharp ones." Legolas added, glaring at Gimli.

"I, however," interrupted Gandalf, "have nothing but my commanding presence. Yet I can move you all." He started out, Frodo at his side. The others fell into place, Boromir and Gimli surrounded by hobbits, Legolas and Aragorn bringing up the rear with Bill.

"About this morning," Legolas began, but Aragorn stopped him.

"I know you would never call me what I thought I heard."

Legolas blushed with shame. "It wasn't you, it was me."

"Did the run help?" Aragorn asked sincerely.

The elf nodded. He seemed about to speak, then stopped, as if searching for the right words. Aragorn smiled at him. Sometimes he forgot, in spite of all the elf's years, just how young he was. Time in the world that had hardened and matured the Ranger had slipped by Legolas in the Mirkwood. He had not learned the customs of other cultures, other ways of looking at the world.

Boromir slowed his steps until he was walking with the Ranger and elf. He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out some bacon wrapped in bread.

"You missed breakfast," he said to Legolas. "I saved you this." Legolas took the sandwich and bit into it.

"My thanks," he mumbled around the crumbs. "You wouldn't happen to have any tea?" he asked, swallowing.

Boromir grinned. "Water, for now." He pulled out his canteen. "Help yourself."

Aragorn laughed. "Water on the march can taste better than the best Dorwinion. Wouldn't you agree, Legolas?"

"One day, Aragorn, I shall begin telling tales on you, and then where will you be?"

Aragorn laughed again. "Far away, lest I die of the shame! Gimli would agree with me, I think." He quickened his pace to join the dwarf and hobbits.

Legolas shook his head. "Sometimes, Boromir, that man exasperates me."

"Not only him, I think." Boromir said quietly. Legolas looked at him, his blue eyes wide. Boromir went on quickly. "I've been thinking. And I have to be honest with you. I'm afraid."

"Of what?" Legolas asked, startled, his pulse starting to beat hard. The shiver in his spine started again.

Boromir forced a grim smile on his lips. "Many things. I saw the ring last night. It called me."

Legolas felt his blood turn to ice. He waited, silent, frozen.

"But I thought of you, and well, I was able to withstand it." Legolas made a small sound, but Boromir cut him off. "This isn't easy for me to say, but I want you to know that right now your friendship is very important to me." Legolas noticed the stress on the word. "The others, well, they are all good companions, and the more I know of them, the more I like them. But with you it's different. I feel that you understand me. That I can trust you." He laughed bitterly. "And then I act like an idiot. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Legolas asked, dumbfounded. "What did you do? Nothing! It was..." Boromir interrupted him again, holding up his hand.

"I won't act the fool again. You have my promise on that. And you have my thanks for all you have done for me. Friends?" He held out his hand, an unreadable expression in his dark blue eyes.

Legolas gripped his forearm, the leather of Boromir's bracers rubbing against the suede of his. "Friends." he said simply. They continued to walk together, silently.

Stopping to rest that night in a copse nestled between the hills, Sam prepared a quick meal for them. Legolas offered to help. Ignoring Aragorn's laughter, Sam instructed the elf, watching his every move carefully. Even Gimli had to approve the quality of the food. Afterward Legolas kept his promise to show the hobbits his fighting technique.

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Legolas." Boromir stated. "They're just getting used to using swords. Knives might confuse them."

"Knives, swords, it's all just an extension of your arm." Legolas replied. "Even the dwarf's axe works the same way."

Gimli sputtered behind his wreath of smoke. "Axe work is unique!" he protested. "It's a style all its own."

"Perhaps you could demonstrate, Legolas," Frodo said. Sam nodded, packing away the utensils. Merry and Pippin made noises of agreement, shifting from foot to foot, their small swords at the ready.

Legolas nodded. "Aragorn, would you mind?" he asked. The Ranger sighed and handed Gandalf his pipe. Gandalf's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Don't hurt each other," he warned. "I need you both in fighting trim."

Aragorn nodded, pulling his great sword from its sheath. Legolas stood calmly before him.

"I would like to take this _demonstration_ out of the trees, if you don't mind." Aragorn said. Legolas followed him beyond the coppice. The others joined them, Merry and Pippin's eyes wide with excitement.

"Don't break his knives, Aragorn," Gimli called out. "It's bad luck." Boromir chuckled. Aragorn, however, was not laughing.

The Ranger lifted his sword. The elf stood motionless. "This is only a demonstration, Legolas." Aragorn repeated. "Don't get creative."

"Just come at me." Legolas said, sedately. Aragorn did just that.

The speed of the elf was unbelievable. His blades flashing in the setting sun, he spun and whirled, twisting his way out of the reach of the great sword. Dancing with the blades between the furious strokes of the Ranger, leaping into the air like a panther, he avoided all of Aragorn's blows. Faster than any of the hobbits could credit, he was behind Aragorn, his knife blade resting against the man's throat.

Aragorn lowered his blade. "Enough?" he asked.

Legolas lovingly ran the blade across the man's cheek. "You need a shave," he said, facetiously.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn said plaintively. The wizard laughed.

"Let him up, Legolas. You've had your fun."

"As you command, Mithrandir." Legolas said, instantly releasing the man and sheathing the knives. The hobbits surrounded him, clamoring to see the knives, asking questions. Boromir stared, openmouthed, and Sam nodded appreciatively at his apprentice cook.

"Extension of the arm, my ass!" Gimli sputtered. "That was a bloody dance about a Maypole!"

"Maybe," Legolas said, "but even one of Sam's frying pan's could be used as a weapon at need. Would you like to see what I can do with just my arm?"

"Not tonight, Legolas." Gandalf said sternly. "If you have that much energy, you can take first watch. But this old man would like to get some sleep sometime tonight, not referee contests of strength and skill. We are all on the same side, remember."

"Well, little ones, will you learn this style?" Legolas asked the hobbits, smiling.

Pippin was vibrating with excitement, and Merry nodded. Aragorn stepped between them and placed a hand on each hobbit's shoulder. "Only the basics, Legolas. We don't have years to practice."

"And you, Boromir?" the elf asked, turning his eyes to his friend.

Boromir laughed. "I'll stick to what I know best," he said. "I don't think I could ever move like that! It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He did not entirely mean the swordplay.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Despite the long shadows cast by the sinking sun, Merry and Pippin were eager to begin their now customary nightly practice with their swords. Legolas' display had filled them both with a new enthusiasm. Gandalf rolled his eyes at them. Gimli chuckled and moved back to their camp in the stand of trees.

Squinting at the horizon, Aragorn judged they had perhaps a half hour before it would become too dark. He glanced at Boromir, who shrugged.

"Might as well," he said. "But we will stick to the basics. Once those become second nature, we will branch out a bit." He pulled his sword out and faced Merry. "Don't try any of that fancy stuff with me, little one," he joked. "I don't want you spraining an ankle."

Gandalf and Gimli settled themselves with their backs to the trunks of the silver trees and returned to their pipes. Gimli puffed silently for a moment, his eyes twinkling.

"Tell me, old friend, just how did Balin take being stuffed into an empty cask and pushed into the river? He never would tell me." The wizard laughed and began to speak, his long-fingered hands sketching his words in the air. The clang of the hobbits' small swords against the great blades of the men made a counterpoint to their quiet conversation.

Sam, having banked the fire and filled the kettle, began organizing his supplies for the morning. To his surprise, he realized Frodo had taken Sting and joined the practice circle. Sam moved around the pile of broken sticks Gimli had gathered for fuel, giving himself a better view of the drill.

Boromir placed Frodo beside Merry and continued his instruction. To Sam, sorting his herbs, one eye on his master, Frodo seemed less aggressive than his cousins, but faced his opponent with a determination Pippin and Merry seemed to lack.

Among such domestic scenes Legolas found himself restless. He spent a few minutes with Bill, checking the pony's hooves, ruffling his mane, whispering a few words in Sindarin. The pony nickered and shook his head, his tail swatting at the evening insects. With a final pat, the elf turned and drifted toward Sam.

"May I help?" Legolas asked, his eyes bright.

"Thanks, but I'm just now done." Sam replied, tying up his pack. He looked up at the tall elf. "Could I ask you a question though?"

"Of course," Legolas replied, squatting down so that their eyes were level. "What is it?"

Sam looked uncomfortable for a moment. Straightening his shoulders, he stared into the elf's face with a resolute air. "What you said about my pans. Were you just making fun?"

That the practical, stubbornly independent Sam might take offense at his thoughtless joke had not occurred to the elf. He stared at him for a moment. Unconsciously he ground a boot heel into the leaf litter underfoot. He'd not thought about how Sam might react to his statement. He realized that he _liked_ this hard-headed little gardener. Sam squirmed uncomfortably, taking the elf's silence for a reproof. The hobbit's pointed ears began to turn red. Legolas cursed himself for his unthinking behavior and smiled.

"I assure you, Sam, I would never make fun of you. I was very serious. Anything can be used as a weapon. A cudgel is just a stick until someone picks it up."

Sam heard the apology in Legolas' tone and nodded thoughtfully. "So then, you're saying a weapon is just a tool. Like a spade or a rake."

"Exactly. If all you had to hand was your frying pan, and Frodo was in danger, would you stop to find something sharp?" He grinned wickedly and shook his head. "You would bash the eyeballs out of anything that threatened your beloved master."

Sam chuckled at that, looking steadily at the elf. "I suppose you could always skewer an enemy with one of your charcoal rabbits," he said.

Legolas snorted loudly at that, causing the dwarf and wizard to look at them. The elf grinned at them and they returned to their conversation.

"It might be kinder than making them it eat it," the elf chuckled. "But you take my point. You have the heart of a warrior, Sam. That's what is important." He reached out an clapped Sam's shoulder. "The rest is practice with the tool of your choice."

Sam nodded to where Pippin, Merry and Frodo were blocking the sword thrusts of Boromir and Aragorn.

"Will they ever be any good?" he asked.

Legolas watched them for a moment. In the twilight, he could hear Boromir's encouraging calls, Aragorn's instructions, see the sheen of sweat on Merry's determined face. After Pippin slipped twice, Aragorn pulled the young hobbit aside to show him the proper footing.

"I think they'll do well," the elf replied. "Do you not wish to learn, Sam?"

"And leave the cooking to you?" the hobbit joked, his eyes straying back to Frodo. There was a grim look on the Ringbearer's face as he concentrated on Boromir's sword. In the gathering darkness he misjudged his stroke, allowing Boromir inside his guard. Boromir turned the blade and swatted Frodo in the arm. Frodo gave a yelp of surprise. Boromir swung his sword arm back as Frodo stopped to rub his arm.

"Oy!" Sam called, leaping to his feet. Legolas half rose from his crouching position and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, feeling the rage that welled up in the stout hobbit. Boromir, concern evident on his face, slipped the blade back into his sheath. He checked for damage to Frodo's arm, then stood behind the hobbit, took Frodo's wrist and moved him through the proper block.

"It's supposed to be practice," Sam growled darkly to the elf. "What's he playing at?"

"Better a bruise from his teacher than the loss of an arm later on," Legolas said. His eyes still watched the tall man. Had he imagined a touch of madness in those eyes? A hunted look? He realized Sam was still talking to him.

"Not much of a teacher, then."

Turning to his companion, the elf grimaced. "If I had a gold coin for every swat I got from my swordmaster, Sam, I'd have a dragon's trove today." The bright blue eyes clouded over fleetingly with pain at the memory of those by-gone days.

"They should have given you cookery lessons instead of bruises." Sam said, noting the change in the elf's expression, instinctively trying to lighten the mood. He looked away, feeling embarrassed by the pain he'd glimpsed. He sat and poked at the fire, jumping at the crack of sap in a branch.

Legolas moved to the pile of wood beside Sam. He picked up a few sticks and began shredding them with nimble fingers. Feeding them to the fire, he watched them blaze brightly for a moment. Then he turned to Sam.

"It seems now is the time for me to learn. And who better to practice on than Master Gimli?" He laughed softly, but without real mirth. "How are our supplied holding out, Master Cook?" he asked. Sam grasped at the change in subject. He reached for a pack behind him and began looking through it.

"I'd be happier if we had some fresh meat," Sam said, "and I'm worried about the salt". He turned his face once again to the small combatants. Frodo was now effectively and consistently blocking Boromir's strokes.

"Perhaps Gandalf will call a halt long enough for us to find and dress a deer? I could speak to him about it." The blue dusk was now too deep for the hobbits to continue, but Merry and Pippin seemed determined to go on. Frodo and Boromir stopped and had a hushed conversation. Then Boromir sheathed his blade and led Frodo back to the fire. Legolas and Sam both stood up. Boromir raised his hand to forestall the scolding Sam was ready to give him.

"I'd like you to poultice his arm, Sam. He insists it's nothing but I'd like to be sure." Boromir said, worry in his voice. Legolas looked keenly at the man, searching for any hint of the madness he thought he'd glimpsed. Boromir, pushing his hair back from his eyes, did not seem to notice the elf's scrutiny, his attention focused on the furious hobbit before him.

"Fooling with swordplay is no joke, Mister Frodo," Sam sputtered, ignoring the man. He reached out and rolled up Frodo's sleeve, revealing a nasty looking weal. He clucked his teeth over it and shook his head. "You've got all of us to look out for you, protect you, you've got no reason to get yourself hurt!"

"It is nothing, Sam," Frodo protested. He looked fondly at his friend, who was examining the mark.

"May I?" Legolas asked, taking Frodo's arm. He ran his fingers gently over the injury. Sam added more wood to the fire and moved the kettle to the center. Boromir seemed to flinch at the accusing stare Sam gave him. The elf finished his examination.

"No breaks, Frodo. It will be sore for a day or two though." He glanced over at Sam and then winked at Frodo.

"I'm still going to poultice it," Sam said stubbornly, pulling a clean cloth from one of his packs. Frodo grimaced.

"You're acting like a broody hen, Sam!" he objected. "I'll be fine." He grinned at his gardener. "I'd like a cup of tea, though."

"Poultice first." Sam grunted. He was rummaging through one of the packs.

"Bandages?" Legolas asked Sam. He risked a quick glance at Boromir. The man was actually squirming! "Where are they?"

"In the small pack by the blankets," Sam told him. "There's a small pot of ointment, there as well. Bring that, too!" Sam opened the kettle lid and dipped a finger in the water to check the temperature.

Legolas rummaged through the pack, searching for what Sam had requested.

"It's my own fault, Sam," Frodo insisted. "I wasn't quick enough."

"Perhaps your teacher was a bit too quick," Sam muttered. "Legolas, have you found that salve yet?" he called, wetting the cloth in the now warm water.

"If he's going to learn, Sam, he has to learn properly. Boromir does him no favours by giving his a false sense of his skills," Aragorn said as he, Merry and Pippin joined the group.

"I don't notice Merry and Pip walking about with giant marks all over them." He washed the rapidly purpling bruise and looked around for the elf. "Not that pack, Legolas, the other one!" he called impatiently.

"That's just not true, Sam," Pippin interjected. "Merry's got quite the welt on his ..."

"Never mind that, Pip!" Merry protested. "Frodo's going to be fine, Sam, really."

Legolas stepped over the fire with the items in his hand. Opening the curiously wrought lid to the container, Sam gently spread the sweet smelling unguent over the weal and wrapped it with the warm cloth. He held out his hand without speaking and Legolas was quick to hand him the bandages. He smiled as he watched Sam wrap Frodo's arm. Frodo sighed and blew the hair up from his forehead in frustration.

"That's no hobbit cure," Aragorn noticed, picking up the jar and examining it.

"The Lord Elrond himself gave me that, Strider." Sam said with evident pride. He tied a neat knot in the bandage and looked up. "I have great respect for the healing arts of the elves. Very wise and kind they are."

"Thank you," Legolas said, deadpan.

Frodo began to laugh. "And here you've been ordering Legolas around like the kitchen boy."

Sam's face grew very red in the light from the fire. "I meant no offense..." he began.

"I have taken none." Legolas told him gravely. "Words can also be tools, Master Gamgee. You use them well."

"I'll make the tea," Boromir offered. Sam turned on him like a bantam rooster. The man backed away from the accusation on the hobbit's face.

"You've done enough!" he said furiously. "Why does he have you lot about, if not to protect him! Isn't that what you swore to do?" His hands balled into fists and Legolas placed a placating hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam swung around to face him. Frodo stepped in.

"That's enough, Sam!" he said quietly. "I asked for lessons. Don't blame Boromir for teaching me."

"But, Mister Frodo..." Sam began, still seething. Frodo flexed his hand and then stared at his friend. A wry smile crossed his face and Sam took a deep breath.

"I really am fine, Sam. And I would like a cup of tea."

"As would I," Gandalf said, joining the group. Gimli stood behind him, the smoke from his pipe curling about his head.

"Boromir and I will go for some more water," Legolas said, catching the man's eye. Boromir pushed his hair back again and grabbed at the excuse like a drowning man grabs at a rope. Leaping over the firepit, he snatched up a waterbag from the pile of gear and joined the elf, the pair walking quickly toward the stream. Sam watched them, his eyes still smouldering, while Merry began rummaging through the packs for something to go with Frodo's tea.

"Legolas," Boromir began, when they were out of range, then paused, considering his words. "I really didn't mean to hurt him. It just seemed to happen." Legolas remained silent, waiting. He knew there was more the man needed to say.

"You have to believe me. I wouldn't hurt Frodo. Sam's right, I swore to protect him." They reached the stream, bubbling gently along, and Boromir was surprised when Legolas sprang over it and continued walking.

He hurried to keep up with the long strides of the elf. They left the shelter of the trees, now silver in the evening, and made their way to the top of a small hill. Legolas quickly scanned the horizon, nodded, then gracefully settled to sit cross legged in the damp grass. He looked up at Boromir and patted the ground beside him. Curious, the man swatted at an insect and sat heavily beside the elf. Legolas continued to wait. Boromir didn't disappoint him.

"Alright!" he confessed. "There was a flash, after it happened. It didn't last a whole second. But it was there! I was happy that I'd whacked him! Happy, Legolas! Then there was nothing but shame." The words rushed out of him, as if a dam had broken.

"For that instant, I wanted to reach out and grab the ring! I admit it. I would take it back to Gondor and my father would be proud of me!" His troubled eyes searched the elf's face for any trace of emotion. Legolas remained stoic.

"Now Sam is furious with me, Aragorn doesn't trust me any more than he did before, and you, well, say something, damn it!" His voice was pleading.

Legolas looked at him, compassion in his soul, but still expressionless. "You didn't do it," he pointed out. "What stopped you?"

The man's eyes crinkled in confusion. "Didn't you hear what I said? I wanted to..."

"Why didn't you?" Legolas interrupted. "Don't tell me about the temptation, tell me why you didn't do just that, take the ring and run?"

"I, because," the man stammered, as the elf continued to gaze at him. "I don't know exactly why. Isn't it enough that I wanted to?"

"Thoughts aren't deeds." Legolas stated angrily. "If they were we'd all be lost." Boromir drew back, unsettled by this new side of Legolas. "You didn't do it, you brought Frodo back to have his wound tended. Tell me why!" he snapped.

"Because it was the right thing to do!" Boromir snarled back. "What do you want me to say?"

The softening of Legolas' face was almost imperceptible in the dark. But Boromir could see the light returning to his friend's eyes.

"That." Legolas told him. "You can't go wandering about thinking that because you're tempted you're already cursed. That's the path to despair, Boromir."

The man stared at him, comprehension slowly crossing his face. "You do understand," he breathed. A great shuddering sob ripped from his chest. He swallowed it, ran a rough hand across the wetness in his eyes.

"It works on me, too, Boromir. It would have me forget who I am and what I have pledged to do." Legolas said softly, staring into the man's tired face. "I wish I were strong enough to say it does not, as Gandalf claims, but I have also been weak. This is its power, and why it must be destroyed. Deep down in your soul you know this and that is why you didn't give into that sudden urge."

Boromir's jaw trembled with the effort he made to keep back the tears. Legolas reached out and gripped the man's arm. "I would not lose you to it, my friend," he said gently.

At the touch on his forearm, Boromir could not contain the flood of weeping within him. Sobs forced their way from him, as if they would pull from his very being all the desolation he'd felt. To Boromir's great joy and surprise, Legolas reached out and wrapped his arms about him. He embraced the elf and wept into his shoulder as if his heart would break. It was not only the fear and frustration, but rejoicing that another understood his pain and weakness and accepted it.

Legolas' hands rubbed gentle patterns on Boromir's back and shoulders as the man cried out the hot tears of his pain. He patted his head and whispered comforting words as the sobs diminished and Boromir's breathing steadied. He felt the man's embrace tighten for a moment, and to his surprise felt the urge to tangle his fingers in the curls at the nape of Boromir's neck. He slowly pulled away, looking curiously at Bormir's tear stained face. Boromir's eyes were full of gratitude.

"Here," the elf said, handing the man the waterbag. "Wash your face. You'll feel better."

"I do feel better." Boromir said, clutching at Legolas' arm. "Thank you." He poured water over his face, wetting his hair, sighing deeply.

"I have watch tonight, and I will stay close by." Legolas told him, wondering if he had pulled away to quickly. "If your father should come to you tonight, promise me that you will call for me. I will not let you stand alone."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

As Frodo and Sam finished their furiously whispered conversation some ways away, Merry and Pippin threw their apple cores into the fire where they sputtered and steamed. Aragorn was silent, thoughtfully watching Sam and Frodo, while Gandalf and Gimli quietly discussed the next day's rations and route. An unnatural quiet seemed to settle on the group as they waited for the return of Boromir and Legolas. If anyone had heard the sobs carried on the still night air, they did not mention it. In the shadows insects fluttered, occasionally darting through the low flames of the fire. Merry lazily swatted at a few near his head.

_Strange,_ he thought to himself, _I wouldn't have thought that Boromir and the elf would have become such good friends in such a short time. They both seem so aloof_.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. He noticed that Aragorn had his sword to hand and furtively gripped the hilt. Sam and Frodo stopped talking, Sam looking sullen and Frodo determined. Boromir and Legolas stepped gently back into the circle of the camp, the man looking somewhat damp, but also as though a great weight had been lifted from him. Merry, glancing at the Ranger, noticed that he did not loose his grip on his weapon until Legolas gave him a tiny nod.

Frodo pushed Sam forward. The stout hobbit glanced back once at the grim face of his master, then swallowed.

"Your pardon, Boromir," he began. "I spoke out of turn earlier. No hard feelings, I hope."

"None at all, Sam." Boromir replied with a note of contrition in his voice, pushing his wet hair back. "Your loyalty and love for Frodo is demonstrated daily. To you, ours must still be tested. It does you credit, your protection of him."

Sam blushed at this and looked startled. "Well said, Boromir!" Merry exclaimed, jumping up. "Shake hands, Sam, and let bygones be bygones."

Sam searched the man's face and saw the exhaustion there. His eyes flickered to the elf, noted the small smile, looked back to Boromir.

"Thank you for understanding," he said simply. He held out his small hand, which Boromir grasped and shook heartily. A collective wave of relief swept through the group.

"I think this evening's been more tiring than the days march." Pippin said, stretching. "I'm for bed."

"So am I, Pip." Frodo said, moving over to his gear. He glanced at Boromir. "Thank you for the lesson," he said, a grin on his face. "I've learned that Sam is worse than anything you could do to me."

Gandalf chuckled at that. Boromir managed a wan smile. He felt drained, tired, and yet curiously light. The weight of all the pain and fear that had been crushing down on him had been wept out, leaving him with a sense of hope and delicate happiness. He knew that he could lay down his life for Frodo at that moment, and the feeling was warm and comforting.

"I think we should all turn in," Gandalf said, tamping out his pipe. "I'd like a hot breakfast in the morning, Sam, if you don't mind." Sam nodded at the old wizard, pulling Frodo's blankets closer to the fire.

"I'll take first watch, Legolas." Aragorn said, his face carefully blank. "I'd like to work out a few kinks in my legs. Pippin managed to get a stroke at me." The hobbit looked proudly at Merry, who sighed.

Legolas nodded affably and placed the full waterbag by Sam's kit. He settled by the fire, sitting cross-legged and relaxed as the others settled down. Aragorn stood and shook his head, as if trying to clear the cobwebs, and left the camp, silent and invisible, once past the dim light of the dying fire.

Gimli took his usual place to one side of the hobbits. Gandalf stretched his long legs out and turned, finding his foot impeded by a fallen branch. Legolas rose and removed the offending limb and the wizard smiled his thanks. Within moments his quiet snores joined the noises of the night.

Boromir shrugged out of his tunic and shirt, hanging the damp articles up to dry in the branches of the tree above him. Legolas, his attention caught by the motion, watched the man, fascinated by the way the firelight glistened off the hair on the man's torso. Swatting at insects, Boromir wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down, his blankets bunched up as a pillow under his head. He smiled once at the elf, a real smile, then closed his eyes. He continued smiling, even as his breath evened out and slowed.

Legolas turned, noticing that Sam was having trouble getting comfortable. Usually the hobbit lay still until Frodo was asleep, as if guarding him to the last. Tonight, though, he continued to turn and toss, moving about. The elf was about to ask if there was anything he needed when Frodo's voice broke the silence.

"Will you sing something, Legolas? If you're not going to sleep right away, that is. I think it would help us all to relax."

"And not that one about the bloody horses again." Gimli interrupted. "We've heard that one too many times as it is."

Merry giggled at that. The horse song, while beautiful, did have a tendency to stick in one's head. Gimli had found himself humming it several times over the past few days. When he stopped, Pippin would begin humming it himself, setting the dwarf off again.

Legolas, stripping the bark from the fallen branch, arranged himself and began to sing quietly in Sindarin. Boromir, drifting in that blissful place between wakefulness and sleep, heard it and woke slightly, caressed by that soft voice and the unfamiliar words. Feeling more secure than he had in ages, he allowed himself to relax completely. He felt the elf's eyes on him, smiled again and drifted.

When Legolas had finished singing, Sam asked, in a gentle voice, "What was it about? It was wonderful!"

"Caterpillars." Frodo whispered, amused. There was a short bark of laughter from the dwarf. Sam sat up on his elbow.

"You're kidding me!" he said, louder than he meant. He lowered his voice. "Those grubby worms on the cabbages?"

"Shhh!" Legolas hissed, his eyes on Boromir. The man appeared to be sleeping. "Not quite, Sam. It's a lullaby. It's about the struggle the caterpillar goes through to become a butterfly. It teaches that even though the caterpillar must go through pain and toil, it transforms itself into something incredible."

"Oh," Sam said, settling down again. "That makes sense, then." He rolled over. "Thank you, Legolas."

Legolas sang again, his voice low and melodious. One by one he heard his companions slip into sleep. He sat, quietly, watching Boromir, then the fire, then the man again, until Aragorn returned from his patrol. He sat beside the elf, stretching his feet to the fire to dry his boots. Legolas got him a cup of water and watched the Ranger drink. Then his eyes strayed back to the sleeping man.

"Are you worried?" Aragorn whispered in Sindarin. The elf looked at him, startled to see a grin on the Ranger's face.

"About what?" Legolas asked, suddenly embarrassed.

"Him." Aragorn nodded toward the cloak-wrapped form. "Lullabies?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"It was for Frodo." Legoals retorted, resenting the tone in his friend's voice.

"Of course it was," Aragorn replied smoothly. "How is he?"

"Frodo? He seemed fine." Legolas told him, confused.

"You know who I mean." Aragorn said, pulling out his pipe and packing it.

"This is hard for him. He's always done what his father wanted him to, you know." Legolas lit a bit of twig and handed it to the Ranger. Aragorn lit the pipe and took a few contented puffs.

"And you?" he asked the elf. "You're not becoming distracted, are you?"

Legolas tossed his head, sending his braids flying. "How can you ask that? Don't you trust me?"

Aragorn held up his hand. "Take it easy." He took a long drag on his pipe, blew a few smoke rings. "I swear, you're getting more like your father every year."

"Go to bed, Aragorn. I think you're overtired from the watch last night." He stood up abruptly. "I'll take care of things. Don't worry."

Aragorn chuckled to himself as the elf stormed off into the trees.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_I am not like my father!_ Legolas stormed to himself as he left the camp, his boots making no sound on the damp ground. Perhaps his stride, had Aragorn been there to comment on it, was a little too purposeful, his blue eyes narrow with anger. He heard the snap of a twig and suddenly assumed that perfect stillness that only elves are capable of. He heard the running of a squirrel in the branches behind him even as his head twisted back to watch. For a few moments he remained in that cat-like awareness, not just seeing, but sensing the world around him. Then he relaxed, recognizing that there was nothing there that should not be. Nothing but this strange fury that seemed to consume him.

Continuing his retreat from the small camp, he circled around and made his way back to the top of the hill where he'd sat with Boromir earlier. He sat cross-legged and listened to the sound of bats swooping about to feed on the night insects. He shifted position a bit to better reach a patch of clover, the purple flowers glowing silver in the starlight, damp with the evening dew. Breathing in the delicate fragrance, he pulled a handful and absently began to twist the long stems into a wreath. With his hands busy, and the stars above him, he began to examine the rage Aragorn's statement had triggered.

It was only a joke, one the Ranger had used many times before. Why should it bother him this time. If there was one thing the elf had learned to deal with, it was the subtle humour of the Ranger. In some ways it was a compliment. So why now, after the storm of Boromir and Sam's emotions, when all was calm and settled, had it provoked such a reaction?

_You snapped at Boromir._ The thought came unbidden. But it had worked. Boromir had needed to confess, to tell him of the temptation. Did that justify the coldness he had forced himself to show the man? Or the viciousness of his voice?

He paused in his musings to watch the flight of a small owl from the shelter of the trees. It drifted by on silent wings, off for a night's hunt. He pulled more clover, added it to the rapidly growing chain in his hands.

How had he known that Boromir would react better to coldness than kindness at that moment?

_It was what his father would have done._ Legolas told himself. Boromir had said enough over the past days for the elf to recognize what his training would have been. Denethor would have accepted no excuses, no apologies.

_It was also what your father would have done._ His conscience would not let him off so easily. It was true. Thranduil would have treated him in exactly the same way, interrogating him, finding the motive Legolas would not have known he'd had. The elf sighed, his fingers slowing, the clover stems weaving more gently now, the softness of their perfume easing his mind.

In his thoughts, Legolas returned once again to the days of his own adolescence, called to mind by his lighthearted remark to Sam. Archery had always been his first and best love. The days and nights surrounded by the beauty of the Mirkwood with his tutor learning about woodcraft, tracking and herb lore had always filled his soul with peace and contentment. Even the statecraft and diplomacy, such as Thranduil practised, had come easily to the young elf.

In the martial training he had been given, he had excelled with dagger, knife and staff. Wrestling and closely observed mock fights with his friends gave them all an excuse to work off high spirits. Despite all this, it always came back to the bloody sword training in the end. Years and years of training that he'd hated. No matter how hard he'd drilled, practised, it was never enough. Gilon could always get through his guard, swatting him hard to remind him.

He would appear for dinner, the bruises visible on his pallid flesh, and his father's face would darken. How could he ever have explained? With daggers and knives he was untouchable. But with the sword he was competent. Nothing more. Thranduil would stare at him with pale eyes and ask, again and again, why?

For years Legolas had asked himself the same question. In his early adolescence he'd discovered the reason, but shame had forced him to bury it. There was no force on earth that would compel him to explain. How could he? Especially not to his father.

_Because in the dreams the Balrog would always take the sword._

A Prince of Mirkwood, afraid of nightmares. It was intolerable. Waking, silent and shaking, covered in the sweat of fear. Yet his father continued to have him drilled. Old Gilon, his sword-master pushed him harder and harder. Even after the incident when his arm had been broken, Thranduil insisted.

So Legolas had continued. Duty was what his father had taught him. He preferred to carry his knives, not the ornate elvish blade his father had commissioned for him. In time it was accepted as a personal idiosyncrasy, like his taste for Dorwinion wine. Yet underneath it still rankled.

The call of a nightbird broke his reverie. There was still no sound out of place, no unnatural movement along the hills. He sighed again and looked at the wreath of clover in his hands, almost surprised at his work. Then he smiled to himself. It was a custom of Thranduil's to wear coronets of spring flowers or autumn leaves in place of the jewelled crowns preferred by mortal kings. He flopped it rakishly on his head, a wry grin on his lips.

"Here's to you, Father," he said softly. "I do love you, you irascible old tyrant."

He began to relax, the rage he'd felt earlier subsiding as he remember happier times with his father.

Aragorn stared into the embers, faintly glowing now, and smiled to himself. "_Typical Legolas" _he thought. Of course the elf was drawn to Boromir. Like calls to like. Legolas wouldn't recognize it, though. He'd over think each encounter, find some rational explanation for every feeling, and be overwhelmed when the truth finally dawned on him.

Aragorn knew elves, understood them. In some ways Legolas was eaisier for him to read then Boromir. What he saw in Legolas both amused and worried him. The elf was young, inexperienced in his dealings with men. Aragorn was the man he knew best, and Aragorn was used to his ways. Watching Legolas and Boromir develop their friendship would be very interesting.

Boromir, wrapped in the sweet sleep of exhaustion, sighed gently and rolled over.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"What is that on your head?" Gimli asked disbelievingly, as Legolas strolled back into camp the next morning. The elf had forgotten about his coronet during the night, and grinned impishly as he reached up and felt it. The clover heads had begun to droop, giving the whole thing a slightly raffish and bedraggled air.

"I ran into Thranduil in the woods," he told the dwarf, watching Gimli start at the name. Aragorn looked at him curiously for a moment, then grinned. Legolas stepped lightly around the still sleeping Boromir and bent down to whisper "sorry" in Sindarin to the Ranger.

"It's going to be a long trip, with you apologizing every day." Aragorn whispered back, looking up at him with laughing eyes.

"It suits you," he continued, in his normal voice. "Makes your eyes almost lavender, and you absolutely look like you've spent the night carousing in the Hall of the Elven King."

Gimli chuckled at that, and Sam looked up from his smoking pans to grin. "I'm not using the clover once it's been on your head, Legolas. First rule of cooking, no hair on the herbs. Or in this case, no herbs on the hair."

Legolas laughed out loud at that, a merry sound that seemed to cheer the hearts his companions. The commotion woke Boromir, who rolled over and sat up in time to hear Gimli say, "You mean, young hobbit, no herbs on the hair of the heir."

He saw Legolas, crowned with clover, laughing in a voice like molten silver. Sunlight streamed through the trees, surrounding him with a bright nimbus. The sight struck something in the man from Gondor, though he would not have been able to identify it in words. He did realize that the elf was not, as he had begun to think, a taller, leaner, and oh-so-beautiful man. He was different, _other_, and the realization changed something in him. He had spent so much time in war and death that to see a creature who's very being spoke of hope, of life and love and joy moved him in the very depths of his soul.

It was a private notion, and he would have been embarrassed to know that Merry, sipping his tea quietly, watched the changes on the man's unguarded face. He gave no sign that he'd seen anything, filing the information away for later consideration.

Boromir yawned and stretched, hoping this new feeling for Legolas was not on his face. The elf turned to him and smiled, a glorious thing, and reached a hand out to him.

"You're finally awake, my friend," he said. "I'm sure Sam will have something delicious, without clover, for you in a few moments. I'm just going down to wash, would you like to come?"

"Fop," Gimli chuckled. "You do look like your father with the flowers, though," he said.

Legolas turned the exquisite smile on the dwarf, who was not dazzled by it as the man had been. "And I'm sure your beard gets it's wonderful colour from your mother," he returned.

Gimli smiled at that. "How did you know?" he asked proudly.

"It was a guess. You forget, I have met your father as well. Coming, Boromir?"

The man stumbled up, tugging on his boots and reaching for his clothes hanging in the branches, while Legolas took his pack from the pile. "Anyone else?" the elf asked.

"Eating, Legolas." Aragorn said, holding up his plate. "Take your time, we'll save you some. Gandalf is letting us relax a bit this morning."

The wizard, still stretched out under the trees, grunted. "Just considering my options for today."

"I think he's feeling his age," Pippin put in, turning a piece of toast. "All nine million years of it." He ducked automatically as a small branch came sailing from the wizard's direction.

"You don't know what you're missing," Legolas said, shouldering his pack.

"Cold water before breakfast," Gimli muttered. "No, thanks, lad."

"As you wish. Come along, Boromir." He led the man back off toward the stream. To Boromir's surprise, he passed the small rill, over the hill of the night before, with it's patch of clover and onwards to another bit of woods, where the stream cut the loamy banks and rocks had forced it to pool.

"How did you find this?" Boromir asked, delighted with the spot. Leafy trees overhung the banks, a small ripples ran over rocks with a delightful bubbling. Warm specks of light twinkled in the air, ripe with the promise of spring.

"While I was on watch," Legolas said, dropping the pack onto the grass and beginning to rummage through it.

"How could you watch from here?" Boromir asked, puzzled, laying aside the clothes in his hand on a nearby branch. "We're quite a bit away from the camp."

"Nothing moved near the camp. Except the midges and the bats chasing them. A few owls were out hunting, but we've disturbed the rodents here. There was a vixen about a mile away, she caught a rabbit, but other than that, it was pretty quiet. Except for the dwarf's snoring, of course."

Boromir stared at him. "Did you hear all that?" he asked, stunned.

"Saw the fox for a moment. I think she had kits." Legolas was pulling out towels, shaking them in the sunlight, sending small insects flying from the nearby reeds.

"Saw...a mile away?"

"Well, she did come out from under cover of the brush. But yes. And I did have an advantage."

Boromir smiled. "Up the tree again?" he asked.

"Stars were out," the elf replied, grinning. "I couldn't help myself." He placed the towels on the ground, along with a small piece of soap. "Going to have a proper wash this morning!" he exclaimed gleefully. "It was all I could do not to rush back for everything when I found this place." He began to strip, showing no self-consciousness at all.

Boromir looked away, realizing that he was about to have a problem. Legolas stepped out of his trousers and looked at his friend. Naked to the waist, Boromir was looking uncomfortable about something, as if he had something he didn't know how to say.

"Oh, your pardon, I never thought," Legolas said, reaching for the britches. Boromir started to breathe again. "You said you wanted to shave! I don't have any kit, but I can run back for Aragorn's if you like. He's usually got a razor somewhere, though he just lets the beard grow out when we're living rough."

Boromir made a strangled sound, and Legolas stopped, one foot in the pants. He looked up at him.

"What is it?" he asked. He looked closer at the man, noticing for the first time the deep flush, the darting eyes.

Boromir cleared his throat, a rough sound. "How cold is that water?" he asked, in a voice husky with desire. He prayed the elf wouldn't recognize it.

"Pretty cold. I find the best way is just to get in." He peered at the man, his head tilted. "Do you not want the shaving gear?"

"Just get in the pool, Legolas. I'll be right in, gotta get my boots off," he muttered. Legolas shrugged and waded in. While his back was turned, Boromir stripped off and rushed in. The water was like ice and Boromir, yelping, was grateful for the shock. When Legolas turned around to complain about the splashing, he had himself back under control.

Legolas happily soaped up, washed out his hair, and offered to wash Boromir's back. The man floundered about, managed to get somewhat clean, and passed on the offer of a back scrub. No water, no matter how cold, would matter if the elf ran those firm and soapy hands over his bare skin. Even thinking about it was causing problems. He rinsed off perfunctorily, grabbed a towel and roughly dried off, pulling his clothes back on furiously.

"Boromir," Legolas asked, "does this make you uncomfortable?"

"This?" the man replied, playing for time.

"The cold water."

"Er," he began, as Legolas waded out of the pool. He stood, naked in the sunshine, droplets glistening off his hair, his white skin.

_It's just the way he is,_ Aragorn had told him. _He can't help it._

_Better learn to deal with it,_ Boromir thought.

"Oh, the cold is alright. It's just that, well," he rubbed the back of his neck absently with one hand, clutching at the towel with the other, not quite sure how to explain.

Legolas' eyes went wide for a moment, and then he scowled. "I've done it again, haven't I?" he asked. "This is another one of those things that men have trouble with, isn't it. Like the other night? I'm sorry. Have I given offense again?"

"Offense?" Boromir said, shocked into bluntness. "Eru, no! It's just that you, there like that, you take the breath right out of me! You're so beautiful, and I've never felt such, I mean, well, look at you!"

It was Legolas' turn to be shocked. "You mean that you're uncomfortable because you feel desire for me?"

Boromir braced himself for the scathing scene he was sure was about to unfold. But the elf's next words were not what he expected.

"No," he said slowly, "you're uncomfortable because you don't want to feel desire for me!" Somehow, this made the elf feel much worse about the situation. He began to pull on his trousers, ignoring the fact that he was still wet. The fabric stuck, and he pulled harder, hopping on one foot.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," the elf said, trying to get the other foot in the pants. "I didn't realize bare skin could offend. I'll try to keep myself covered up from now on." He hopped again, suddenly seething.

Boromir was more confused than he'd ever been.

"Wait," he said, throwing the towel over his shoulder and heading over to the elf. "You're mad because you think I think I don't want to want you?"

Legolas had one foot through the leg and was trying desperately to hop away from the man, struggling with the other leg.

"Stop that, you're going to trip," he said, reaching for the elf's arm.

"Elves don't trip." Legolas told him, suddenly absolutely still. Boromir was amazed. The perfect stillness, the ridiculousness of the elf's pose, the entire situation suddenly became to much for him. He smiled.

"Don't you laugh at me, Boromir," Legolas said, warningly. The corners of Boromir's lips twitched. He tried to squelch the laugh, not wanting to anger the elf furthur, and contorted his face. Legolas watched the man try to hold in the laughter, and felt his own lips twitch, the absurdity he was involved in, and the good humour of the morning returned.

Boromir laughed out loud, and the elf joined in.

"Look, get out of those things and dry off," Boromir said, handing the towel to the elf. "They'll stick something awful if you don't. Then will you please explain what just happened here?"

Legolas pulled his wet legs out again and dried off. Boromir watched him in fascination. The elf put the pants back on and began to rub the towel over his hair.

"I don't know what just happened." Legolas said. "I think this all got very complicated somewhere between cold water and desire."

"I'll be honest with you, Legolas, this is all completely new to me. You're the first elf I've had any dealings with. I don't know your customs, I don't know what is appropriate with you. But I do know this. You held me last night when I was in despair, you let me be myself, you've comforted me, you've been my friend, and that is something I'm not going to throw away because you're beautiful and fascinating and kind and I find myself having crazy urges around you."

"Crazy?" Legolas asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"That's just it, I don't know if it is crazy. You remind me that we are out here for a purpose. The most serious purpose in the world. It's not a time to get distracted. And, the Valar help me, you distract me." he grinned. "I like it. But I won't put Frodo into danger because I'm fantasizing about you." He pushed his hair back and sighed. "Faramir was right, Father should have sent him."

Legolas continued to towel his hair. "Faramir would have found me repulsive, no doubt," came the muffled voice from under the fabric, sounding slightly insulted.

Boromir felt his lip twitch again. "Faramir would never have been so gauche as to allow you to know how you affected him. I can't imagine anyone not being overwhelmed by you."

Legolas finished his hair and pulled his tunic back on. Then he sat on the mossy branch beside the pack, pulled his comb out and began, very deliberately, to pull the tangles from his hair.

"Let me see if I have this right," the elf said, peering from behind the curtain of damp-darkened hair. "If we weren't on this journey, if we were, say, on a regular errand, or just visiting in Imladris, and didn't have one hobbit with the fate of the world around his neck, one who wants me to learn to cook, two who should be at home in the Shire, the oldest Wizard in the world, a dwarf with a bad sense of humour and a Ranger, who I'm going to kill when we get back, you would ask me over for dinner?"

"No," Boromir said, honestly. "I would spend a week just looking at you, listening to you sing, to your stories, telling you mine, and trying not to eat your cooking. You lift the dark from me."

"But Boromir," Legolas said, gently easing the comb through a difficult patch, "You've spent a week doing all those things."

"I know," the man sighed, sitting beside the elf. Their thighs touched, raising yet another tingle in the man. "Now I find myself wondering what it would be like to spend another week with you."

"You're going to find out," the elf replied, dryly. "I don't think it's going to be all beer and skittles."

"But I want you to understand something. You are the kindest person I've ever met. I don't want to do anything that would make you turn away from me. Like last night."

Legolas stopped mid stroke. "Last night," he said, flatly.

"Yes. Last night. I've been thinking about the other thing you said to me once. You told me I don't have to be who the others expect me to be. You don't either."

The elf's face went blank. Automatically, he sectioned his hair, started the braids. His fingers flew through the silvery locks, pulling them back, laying them neatly against his head. His heart fought desperately against the temptation he was feeling. _Duty,_ he told himself. _This is not the time._

He felt weak in the presence of so many conflicting emotions. He'd been through rage, and laughter, love of the starlight, of the morning, and unbridled affection for this man. He'd felt humiliated, humbled, and confused. He tied his braid, put down the comb, and looked at the man, who was watching a frog catching buzzing insects on the grass.

Legolas, stood up and took Boromir's hands in his, pulling him up. The man was a fraction shorter. He looked at the elf with guileless blue eyes, trust and affection in his gaze. Legolas searched those eyes, confusion and fear clouding his own eyes to grey. Boromir's gaze turned puzzled. Giving into the temptation at last, Legolas bent his head and gently kissed the open mouth, savouring the softness of the lips, the ripples that ran through him. Boromir closed his eyes, moaned softly, then returned the kiss ferociously. His hands came up to tangle themselves in the blond locks, while the elf's wrapped around his back.

Boromir broke away first, breathing raggedly. He looked at the elf with adoration. Then something within him clicked. The tenderness in his eyes changed to horror and he backed away.

"This is what you meant last night," he said, in a ragged voice. "That it would change you!" he turned and fled, knowing it for flight, back to the camp.

He didn't notice the clover circlet, wilted and broken, as he trod it into the mud in his haste.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Grumbling, Aragorn followed the trail to the pool, his eyes registering signs automatically, where Legolas had pulled clover the night before, the tracks in the grass where booted feet had walked companionably, the crushed path where one had returned. He reached the wood, the white birch and dark pines, where Legolas hid, perched in the topmost branches of a tree, his gaze fixed on the mountains in the distance, dark shadows against the brilliant blue of the sky, mirrored in his eyes.,

"Legolas!" Aragorn hissed in angry Sindarin, peering through the foliage. "You get down here right now and tell me what's going on."

"Nothing," the elf responded, almost to himself.

Aragorn tried to shake the tree trunk, knowing he'd never get the elf down that way, but trying to release some of the frustration he was feeling. Leaves rustled and an angry squirrel screeched at him. But the elf was unmoving.

"If I have to climb up after you, I'm going to drop you on your pointed little ears! What have you done?"

"Nothing," the elf said again. Aragorn's voice seemed very distant to him. _"Duty,"_ his father's voice whispered in his mind.

"Legolas, you broke Boromir! I don't know what you've done, but I intend to find out. He ran back to camp like all the fiends of Mordor were after him. Scared the hobbits half to death! Gandalf is talking to him, he's giving some tale about doubting himself or possession or some such foolishness. We don't need this right now, Legolas. So you scamper down here and give me some answers."

"I don't have any," the elf called down, only his booted foot visible through the canopy of leaves. "Go away. I'll catch up."

"You'll do no such thing" Aragorn stormed. "I'm coming up." He pulled himself up into the branches and began the ascent, not a hard task for a child of Imladris. It had been a game between himself and other elf children.

Legolas, his hair still only half braided, startled, started the half of the game Aragorn had not been good at. He shimmied higher in the tree and hurled himself into the next one, grabbing at thin branches, wrapping his legs around the trunk. Seconds later he was six trees away.

"Don't start silly games, Legolas. We're having a crisis here." Aragorn called, working his way back down to the ground, shredding the white bark beneath his boots in his haste. He'd have to try to keep up on foot.

Legolas let go a string of Sindarin invective worthy of the stormy Elven-King himself. Aragorn stopped, stunned.

"You did not just say that to _me!_" he sputtered. He ran, boots crashing through scrub trees and tangles of last years vines, following the elf through the patch of woods.

When he reached the end of the trees, Legolas launched himself, somersaulting through the air and hitting the ground at a dead run. Aragorn, knowing that he would not win by speed, turned to guile instead, pulling up a deadfall branch and taking aim. The missile flew, hitting the elf behind the knee and tumbling him to the ground. He rolled, righting himself, and snarling with fury, turned on the ranger. He threw himself, catching Aragorn around the waist, pulling him to the ground.

Aragorn spoke in a tone of command Legolas had only heard used by his father. He froze.

"Let me up." Aragorn said, his eyes cold, in that powerful voice. Legolas, stunned, did so, confusion and rage fighting in his face. "It's not me you're angry with."

Aragorn scrabbled to his feet, and grabbed the elf by the tunic, pulling his face close to his. "If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will personally knock out every tooth you have. Do you understand me?"

Legolas turned his head and spat. Aragorn, still furious, slapped him. "What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?"

Legolas muttered something, switching to Silvan. Aragorn shook him. "Stop this! What did he do to you?"

Somehow, the change in question made a difference to the elf. Reason started to clear the clouds of rage in his eyes. He looked at the ranger as shame covered his face. Breathing deeply, he hung his head, mute.

"I'll kill him myself," Aragorn muttered, brushing bits of leaf and grass from the elf's head. "What happened?"

Confusion and hurt mingled in his tones as Legolas began to string words together that made no sense, muttering into his chest. Something about washing hair, and starlight, and shame and lust and anger. Aragorn didn't understand any of it.

"Wait," he said, holding up his hand, the fingers of his other hand wrapping themselves into the fabric of the tunic, in case the elf decided to bolt again. If he couldn't outrun him, at least he could hang on to him. "What exactly did you do?"

Legolas raised his head. He saw the years of trust in him on the ranger's face, worry and concern in those deep blue eyes. How could he explain the emotions running through him? With a sigh of defeat, he gave up trying to explain in words.

"I did _this,_" he said, bitter Sindarin dripping from his lips.

He firmly placed his hands on either side of Aragorn's face and kissed the shocked ranger passionately. Aragorn was surprised at the warmth he felt from him, and even more by the rush of feeling that consumed him. He leaned in, eagerly returning it. The elf broke away first, leaving the man feeling somehow hungrier than before.

"I'm flattered, Legolas," he said, licking his lips, relishing the taste of the elf. "But I've never really thought about you in that way. You've been more of a brother to me."

Legolas threw up his hands in despair. "I will never understand you people!"

Aragorn laughed and pulled the elf into a rough embrace, patting his back, and tousling hair run wild, still with bits of twig and grass embedded in it. Legolas stiffened for a moment, then allowed himself over to the hug, feeling the affection emanating from the man. At least Aragorn was still there for him. He felt a hot burning in his chest, and fought down the urge to sob.

"Come on," Aragorn said resignedly, leading the agitated elf back to the pool. He sat him down on the branch, picked up the comb and began to unsnarl the mess of hair.

"Now," Aragorn said, pulling bits of detritus from the elf's hair. "Tell me what happened."

Legolas did so, in halting words, occasionally gesturing, gaining his confidence back as he explained the debacle. Aragorn fought the urge to pull the hair and limited himself to sounds of encouragement. He let the elf pour out the doubts he had, the feeling that it was his fault Boromir was tormented.

"Not your fault." he said, dipping the comb into the water of the pool and beginning to re-plait the masses of white hair with quick and skillful hands.

"Must be," Legolas muttered, kicking at a bit of stone, his head pulled back, watching the patchy cloud. "You didn't run off screaming 'Evil' or 'Possession' when I kissed you."

"You forget that I've known you a long time. I'm used to you. I even get your jokes." Aragorn laughed softly, mocking himself gently. He still had the heat in his belly. "You don't know how men see you, Legolas. You are beautiful, there's nothing wrong with that. It's part of you, like your hands, or your voice. You are different from them, that's all."

"Aragorn, why do you all keep calling me beautiful. It's not like I'm even that handsome. I mean, Father,..." Aragorn interrupted him.

"The light of the Eldar make itself felt, Legolas It makes all elves, even the ugly ones," he joked, "so far beyond men that they don't understand it and call it beauty. But that's not all it is. It's the way you look into someone's soul when you speak to them. It's the way you carry yourself. It's all this and more, and it can be overwhelming."

The elf pondered this for a moment, scuffing the toe of his boot into the mud by the pool. "I don't understand any of this, Aragorn," he said, as the ranger finished the braids. Legolas ran a hand over them, checking the ranger's competency. Aragorn sighed as he shook out the towels and hung them in the sunshine. "Why are men so complicated?"

Aragorn found the sandy bar of soap, tossed aside in the morning's discombobulation. A subtle scent rose from it, and the ranger spent a brief moment identifying it. Kingsfoil. He splashed it about in the water, rinsing it. The scent clung to his hands as he shook it off. He sighed again, searching for a metaphor Legolas would take to heart.

"Let me see if I can explain it. When you choose a horse, do you pick the best looking one, although his gait my be faulty, or do you find a scrub with a good heart?"

Legolas snorted. "Not horses again!" He held up a hand at the frustration on Aragorn's face. "Fine! I'll play along. I take the scrub, but you know that I'm going to braid his mane and polish his hooves."

"Fine. And while you're doing all this, one of the Mearas comes into the field and wants to be your mount."

Legolas looked at the sky. "The Mearas don't do that."

Aragorn shook his head at his friend, sitting down on the damp ground, removing bits of twigs from his own hair, pulling the comb through it. "Suppose one did. It puts your goodhearted, dandified scrub into the shade, doesn't it?"

Legolas sat beside his friend, interested. He stretched out his long legs, feeling the sun, hot on his damp hair. Aragorn noticed that he also smelled faintly of kingsfoil.

"I suppose so. But I wouldn't want to just abandon the other horse. It hasn't done anything wrong."

"You are loyal to the end, my friend. Now, try to follow me here. Boromir has chosen the scrub. To take the ring back to his father would be much more attractive to the kind of man he is, full of action and determination. We know that that horse will falter, and so Boromir has been wise and made a hard choice. With me so far?"

The elf nodded, looking slightly bored. "I know this," he said. A chipmunk chattered in the tree above him and he turned to look at it. Aragorn touched his arm, causing the elf to turn and look at him again.

"While he may not be as particular as some in our company as to the appearance of his scrub, he will look after Frodo with all the care you would give to any horse you rode. He will guard him with his life. As would you, with a borrowed horse."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Now I've borrowed it? When did that happen?"

"Dammit, Legolas!" Aragorn said, pulling a handful of grass and throwing at the elf. The light breeze picked up the strands and sent them dancing in the air, spiralling down to make little ripples in the pool. "It's your father's horse, alright! You've borrowed it. And if you tell me Thranduil doesn't own any scrubs, I'll hold you under the water until you're blue."

"Fine. Go on with your story."

_Elves, _Aragorn thought. "Now, while Boromir is guarding Frodo, you come into his life. You are the Mearas." The elf brightened at that. "You put every other horse to shame. Boromir is so overpowered by the fact that the Mearas, that's you, want to be with him, that he's forgotten the poor little scrub. Our trip to Mt. Doom."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain this morning", the elf said, reaching to the heart of the problem as he saw it.

"I'm getting there," Aragorn muttered, wishing he had his pipe. "What he doesn't yet understand is that in his own way, he is also one of the Mearas. And that you are impressed with him. He doesn't quite know what to make of it. And what he truly doesn't understand, as I think you do, is that he can have both the Mearas and the scrub at the same time."

"So why did he run like that?" Legolas said, getting to the point. He thought he understood what the man was trying to say, but needed to have words put around it.

"Because, my friend, he's afraid that the evil of the ring will use him to turn his Mearas into a Black Steed. And then the Black Steed will run down the scrub with hooves of fire."

"Oh," Legolas breathed. "It so simple, when you explain it like that. Why didn't he?"

"If you kissed him like you kissed me, he probably couldn't catch his breath. It took me a few minutes."

The elf laughed, a hearty sound that seemed to clear away all the mornings confusion for him. He rose gracefully from his seat and started putting his things back into his pack.

"I'd have kissed you before this, Aragorn, if you'd said anything. I didn't know you'd like it." he called over his shoulder as he left to return to the others.

_Neither did I,_ Aragorn thought, watching the elf stride back to the camp.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Despite the wizard's words the man was still trembling. He sat on a sun warmed grey rock near the camp, his hands between his knees, his head slumped in dejection. Gandalf sat beside him, his voice soft and calming.

"Boromir, you are making too much of all this," Gandalf said, lighting his pipe. All thoughts of travel would have to be put off until this could be straightened out, he couldn't have any of the companions jumping at shadows or stray kisses all the way to Mordor.

"I don't think I can do this, Gandalf" the man said, looking out from behind the curtain of his hair. "If I can't control myself, how can I protect Frodo or _him._"

"He's probably the least affected of us all," Gandalf said quietly. "You must not blame yourself for this. He caught you off guard, that's all."

"He's my friend, he understands me. Why would he do this?"

"Have you considered that he found you attractive? That perhaps he's just being himself."

"But he told me," Boromir started, his expression sullen, "that _it_ would change him..."

"Boromir, stop acting like a blushing virgin!" Gandalf snapped, forestalling another recitation of the mornings events. "It was a simple thing, not worth all this fuss. Here is my best advice and I suggest you take it. The words of wizards are not to be treated lightly." His voice had darkened, and Boromir looked at him in shock. To his great surprise, Gandalf winked at him.

"Legolas is a good soul, dedicated to whatever he takes upon himself. He's still fairly young, the only man he knows well is Aragorn, so you probably puzzle each other. But he has never failed a friend. Never. If you are his friend, he will not abandon you. All this other business," and the wizard dismissed the morning's events with a wave, "is distraction. Let it go, treat him as a friend. There's no need to rush into anything else." The man looked like he was going to protest, and Gandalf lowered his brows. "He's going to be scouting out ahead of the group for the next few days. Perhaps it would be well for you to examine your own feelings in this. He's an elf, after all. They're tactile creatures."

Boromir pushed his hair back absently. "I had noticed that," he said, with a small grin. Gandalf clapped him on the shoulder as he stood up. They returned to the others.

On his return to the encampment, Legolas looked eagerly about him for Boromir. The man from Gondor, however, was studiously not noticing the elf's return. He looked up once, but catching the elf's eye he quickly turned back to the packs he was arranging on Bill's back, under Sam's supervision. Sam smiled at the elf, even as Gandalf, his steps heavy, met him in the middle of the clearing.

"A word in private, Legolas?" he asked. There was no request in the wizard's lined face though.

"As you say, Mithrandir," Legolas replied, inclining his head and offering his arm. Gandalf waved it away and strode out through the trees, Legolas following. Gandalf had no intention of humbling the elf before the others, but he did intend to be firm.

"I realize you've done nothing wrong," the wizard began, as they stepped past the tree line and ambled pleasantly through long grass. "But he's edgy enough without this. Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince him you weren't about to turn into the Enemy himself?"

"I really didn't think it all the way through, Mithrandir," Legolas said, his voice coloured with apology. "It just sort of happened." The elf looked down at his boots as Gandalf made the noise Pippin referred to as "humph", short for "What have you gone and done now, you foolish hobbit!" Legolas had never been on the receiving end of it before, and hurried to explain himself further. "It was only one kiss, and I thought he was comfortable with me..." he broke off, looking back up at the wizard's face. There was a faint tinge of embarrassment across the elf's cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"He's from Gondor, he doesn't understand you." Gandalf sighed and pushed his hat back, the morning sun illuminating his face. "Look, I was young once, too. I understand how these things can come about. I'm asking you,_ you, _mind you, Legolas, to keep a lid on things. I know elves, and what seems innocent enough to you will overwhelm him completely. I need him in one piece. Especially if we have to deal with his father. You understand me, I think"

"When you say keep a lid on it..." the elf began, squirming a bit under the wizard's intense gaze. Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"Hands to yourself, boy! No midnight swims under the stars. No gentle caresses under the old oaks. Or, if you have to, at least make sure he understands what he's getting into. I'm much to old for this foolishness." To Legolas' astonishment, he smiled. "You have no idea of your own power, lad. Be his friend, he'll need you more than ever now. Be yourself, but be a little less, shall we say, demonstrative?" The young eyes in the old and careworn face twinkled at the elf. "He's not used to it."

Legolas looked away in the direction of the man and then grinned wickedly at Gandalf. "What if he does get used to it?" he asked, mischievously.

"Mind your manners, young elf!" Gandalf laughed, turning back to the camp. "More talk, less action. Give him a few days peace, at any rate."

"As you command, Mithrandir." Legolas replied, laughing himself as he followed the wizard.

"Good, good." Gandalf said, . "Now, what have you done with Aragorn?"

"Well, he's coming, he said he had to catch his breath after I kissed _him._.."

Gandalf groaned under his hat.

Aragorn returned with a determined look on his face. He had spent the walk back to camp ignoring the tingle on his lip, trying to put his feelings for Legolas back into their proper place. He had been astonished to realize that he had felt a pang of jealousy towards Boromir. While he'd been honest when he'd told the elf he thought of him as a brother, he was struggling to look at him in exactly the same way he'd done yesterday.

Gandalf sent Legolas out to scout, the elf ranging far and fast before them. As the fellowship set out, later than he would have liked, Boromir took the rear position. Aragorn slowed his steps until they were walking together. Frodo and Gandalf led, Gimli, Merry and Pippin, eaten up with curiosity, but not about to ask questions, in the middle of the column, Sam just ahead of them with Bill.

Aragorn was chewing his lip thoughtfully. Boromir glanced at him, then decided to bring it up. "Are you here to tell me not to worry about it, it didn't mean anything?" he asked pointedly.

Aragorn looked at him, a mixture of pity and envy in his eyes. "No, I'm here to tell you that he's always been very careful about who he loves." Boromir blushed and looked away. Aragorn continued. "And that if you hurt him, then I will kill you myself, slowly."

Boromir stopped and stared at the Ranger. "You presume many things, Aragorn," he said, haughtily. "I don't care to discuss this with you."

"That's fine," Aragorn continued, in a quiet, serious voice. "You can listen then. He's not like you and me. You see the way he moves through the world. He's not separate from it, he's part of it, the forests, the plains, everything. It touches him in ways you can't begin to imagine. And he touches it back. With his voice, his heart, all of him. Do you understand me? He's always been like this. He moves through a world of sensations that we can't understand. If you or I stand in a cold river, we want out, as soon as possible. To him, it's ecstasy. Do you notice how he touches people gently when he speaks to them, strokes Bill? It's all part of who he is. When he touches you or me, it's his way of reaching out, of giving of himself. Elves are not the same as men, when they love, it's joy to them, they want to share it."

"What are you saying, Aragorn?" Boromir asked, his eyes dark.

"Be honest with him. If this morning really bothered you that much, tell him. It won't happen again. He keeps his word." _And I will think you a fool, for kisses like that are not to be thrown away lightly. _He pushed the thought down, his eyes hardening. "Talk to him, tell him how you feel. It's the only way you will understand each other. Be his friend. That's all." He clapped the man on the shoulder.

Boromir turned to look at him and froze, a familiar scent in the air tantalizing him. Aragorn smiled at him, then strode off to join Sam and the pony. Boromir looked after him, trying to identify the aroma. Suddenly it hit him. _Legolas' hair!_ He looked intently after the Ranger. _A word of advice, Aragorn, _he thought, _or a warning to stay away? _ He brooded as they made their way over the plain, skirting around the edges of scrub bush and marsh.

Starting late meant that Gandalf pushed them a little harder than usual. It was almost dusk by the time they found themselves falling into the routine of making camp. Boromir went into the denser bush to find wood, hoping for dead-fall. Caught in his own dark thoughts and suspicions, he found himself wondering about what had been said between the Ranger and elf after he'd left. And trying to push that damnable, sun kissed, herbal fragrance that permeated the elf's hair out of his mind. He could half-smell it now. He stopped, looked around, realizing that he'd gone farther into the wood than he'd anticipated. Worse, it was getting dark, and he worried about finding his way back to the camp. He looked around the trees, hoping to see the gleam from the firelight or smell smoke. The wind shifted, but instead of bringing the reassurance of smoke from a wood fire, this was a pungent, earthy smell, rank and rancid. He froze. Orc? No, this was a different stink, and it took him a moment to identify, for these creatures were rare in the woods near his home.

"_Bear!"_ he though, placing it. He could hear a muffled snuffling, a low hnugh hnugh sound. He dropped the limbs he was carrying and pulled his sword. The sounds seemed to have stopped, but the smell was stronger now. His sharp eyes caught the dark shape, now coming slowly towards him. He prepared to defend himself. The bear, a great black and shaggy beast, almost within lunging range, stopped and reared back.

The elf was a blur as he leaped from the tree, landing lightly in front of the animal, his words soft and gentle. She looked at him, curiously. He continued to speak tenderly, holding his hands out, as if in supplication. To Boromir's horror, the bear stepped closer and sniffed at the elf. He reached out to stroke her softly beneath the muzzle. She allowed it, then swung her head to stare at the man.

"Little sister," Legolas continued, in calm and caressing Sindarin. "He will not harm your young. He is mine. I will take him now, and you must return to your family. All will be well."

She snuffed once again, then fell back to her normal posture with a thud the man felt through his boots. Legolas, still using that reassuring voice, switched to the Common Tongue. "Put your sword away, Boromir, she's upset enough."

Boromir complied instantly. The bear made the strange hnugh sound once again and returned to the cover of the brush. Boromir didn't realize his hand was shaking until the elf reached for it, but then Legolas, mindful of Gandalf's instructions, pulled it away again. Embarrassed, humbled once again, Boromir felt the rage build up.

"Why are you following me?" he hissed as he stooped to pick up the wood. There was no sense in making this a wasted trip.

"Because Merry was worried about you, you'd been gone so long. So I followed your trail. Are you blind, to wander that close to bear cubs? She could have killed you!"

"I never saw them..." Boromir began, still mortified he'd not been more vigilant in unfamiliar territory.

"What's wrong with your nose? Hobbits on a hill, Boromir, couldn't you smell her?" Legolas waved his hands about in front of the man. "Bear scent sticks, you know. It's going to take ages to get this off my hands!" He absently rubbed his fingers through the pine boughs, hoping to disguise it. "Honestly, how did you ever make it Imladris in the first place?"

This was a bit more than Boromir was prepared to take. He had not been paying attention, that was true, and he was angry enough with himself. He did not need the elf pointing it out.

"There's nothing wrong with me! I'm a normal man, not blessed with those superhuman senses of yours. I didn't smell a thing until the wind changed! But wait, since I _was_ able to pick up the delightful fragrance of your hair all over Aragorn earlier. I guess I'm not so useless after all!" He stomped past the elf, his arms full of firewood. "What kind of games are you playing?"

Legolas was stunned. "Games?" he asked, staring at the furious man. Absently he began to pick up limbs of his own, reaching underneath the scrub of last year to reach big branches.

"Because you can just count me out!" Boromir continued, blackly. "I want no part of it. You and Aragorn can go back to whatever it is you have. I'll be fine, you can tell him that."

"What are you talking about, Boromir?" Legolas asked, his long strides catching him up with the man.

Boromir's throat was tight, but he managed to spit the words out. "You are my comrade, I thought you were my friend. After this morning, I'm not sure about anything!"

"Oh, that!" Legolas chuckled softly. This infuriated Boromir even more. "Aragorn explained it all to me, you see, if I was a Meares and Frodo were a scrub..."

"That's it!" Boromir yelled. He shook the hair back from his eyes. "Go explain it to Aragorn then!" He stormed off through the trees, ducking beneath boughs, cracking twigs underfoot.

"Boromir?" Legolas called. "You do know you're going the wrong way?"

The man strode back to the elf with a maniacal look on his face. "Lead on then! Since I'm going to be a feckless good-for-nothing again!"

"You're not feckless!" Legolas retorted. "This morning, that was a misunderstanding, that's all. Kissing you had nothing to do with the Enemy at all. I just wanted to."

"Which way back?" Boromir said between gritted teeth, ignoring the elf's words.

"That way," Legolas said, waving in the direction with his booted foot. "But look, Mithrandir told me not to do things like that to you, because it will upset you." He began to follow the man through the trees. "Don't you think we should talk about this? Everyone else seems to think so."

"Really?" Boromir called over his shoulder, dripping sarcasm. "Did you kiss everyone else like that, then?"

"No, just Aragorn, but it was more...well," He stopped talking, as he realized that his policy of being honest might not be the best thing until Boromir calmed down again.

Boromir bit back the harsh words on his tongue and trudged back towards camp. Legolas following, carrying his own armful of wood. "You're being very childish about all this, Boromir," the elf continued. Boromir quickened his pace.

Reaching the camp, he dropped his wood beside the fire and got the hatchet from Sam. Stripping down to his tunic he began chopping it up into pieces for the hobbit. Looking carefully at the man's face, Sam refrained from pointing out that tiny splinters were not going to do them much good. Finishing his own pile, he turned to where Legolas had dropped his and took the hatchet to that as well.

Backing away from the furious chopping, Sam quietly made his way to Aragorn. "Strider?" he asked, in a whisper.

"I'll get you more wood, Sam, later on. Let him, it's what he needs." Aragorn rested a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, reassuringly. Sam looked at the elf, confused.

Legolas took his tea from Merry. As he reached for the cup, Merry's head swiveled around to face the elf, his nose crinkling.

"Is it _you_ that smells like that, Legolas?" he asked. "What happened out there."

"Bear," Legolas said draining his cup. "Hot water, Sam?" he asked.

"Coming right up," the hobbit told him, taking the kettle from the fire. The elf half filled a pan, added some from the waterbag to cool it, and began scrubbing at his hands with his soap. The light and wholesome scent of kingsfoil filled the air. This appeared to enrage Boromir even more. He took the hatchet and stormed back into the trees. With a look at Aragorn, Merry silently slipped away to follow the man from Gondor.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Boromir stopped chopping at deadfall and turned around to face the hobbit who had caught up with him. "Merry, why are you following me?"

The hobbit settled on a fallen branch and stuck out his hairy feet, stretching his legs with a sigh. "I've got a cousin back in Buckland," he began companionably, leaning back on his arms. He waggled his toes as he looked up at the man.

Boromir snorted angrily. "Half the Shire is your cousin, if I understand things aright. What are you getting at?"

Merry ignored the man's ire. "This cousin took up with a girl from the other end of the Shire. Pretty girl, but she had some strange ideas. They were always getting into tiffs about the strangest things. They'd argue for days about the proper way to make the tea, does the milk go in first or not? Things like that."

"I don't want to talk about Legolas, Merry," Boromir growled. He turned his back to the hobbit and began pulling branches from the ground cover and stacking them.

"Good," Merry said, "because I'm telling you a story about my cousin." He pulled his pipe out, searched his pockets for a match. He puffed gently, paying no attention to Boromir's dismissal. When he was satisfied with his smoke, he continued.

"This cousin of mine, he was besotted with the girl. Lilac was her name. Several times one or the other would call everything off and they'd vow never to see each other again. Very dramatic, it was. But within a few weeks, there he was back at her door, or a note would come inviting him for supper." He blew a lazy smoke ring. "It was the talk of all the Farthings, believe me. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on it. Funny thing was, they never listened to anyone's advice."

Boromir continued stripping twigs from the branches. "Let me guess, they got married and lived happily ever after."

"Well, they did get married, but I wouldn't say happily ever after. Some of the arguments were fierce. And his mother didn't like the way she did things. He'd be down the pub of an evening and she'd march in and pull him home by the ear." He rubbed his own pointed ear in sympathy. "She went home to her mother once, he went and fetched her back again."

Boromir shuddered. "Sounds terrible. How did it end?"

Merry pulled the pipe from his lips. "It didn't. She was expecting her seventh child when we left. He was prouder than ever of her. They were arguing over the name Teasel."

Boromir stared at him. "What was the point of the story, then?"

Merry stared back, his open and easy gaze never wavering. "Does every story have to have a moral? I've another cousin who wanted to be a blacksmith. Of course he was a Took, and they always seem to have foolish dreams." He drew on his pipe again.

Boromir stared at the hobbit. Then his wide grin split his face, like sunshine coming from behind clouds. "You're a wise one, Merry," he said, gathering his branches. Merry stood up to follow him back to the campsite. "Did they ever decide on how to make the tea?"

"Of course. They took it with lemon."

"Legolas, you still reek of bear!" Aragorn complained, as the companions waited for their dinner. He sat with his back at the base of a tree, the elf perched above him.

"I do not!" the elf retorted. He was stretched comfortably in the low branches, one booted foot dangling freely. The Ranger peered up at him.

"Something stinks," he said, tilting his head.

"Not me, see?" Legolas said, reaching down and playfully grabbing the man's face. "Try the dwarf." He ran his hands through the tangles of Aragorn's hair. "This is a mess, I'm going to braid it." he stated, swinging himself down and going to his pack.

"Leave it be," Aragorn said, shaking his matted locks.

"A man of your position should wear braids," the elf replied. He twisted Aragorn around, knelt behind him and began to pull the comb through the tangles. "It's disgraceful."

"Do the braids have a significance?" Pippin asked, fascinated by the way the proud ranger submitted to this treatment.

"Oh, yes, it's very important to elves." Legolas explained seriously, turning Aragorn's head. The man sighed and Pippin did not notice the curl to Gandalf's lip. "The length of the braids shows how many battles a warrior has survived, the number and placement shows his status, you can even tell someone's family connections..."

"They keep the hair out of your eyes, Pip. That's all." Aragorn said, in an exasperated voice. "Legolas, you're terrible," he continued as Frodo laughed heartily. The elf grinned and rested his chin on the top of Aragorn's head. Pip turned as he heard Merry's voice coming from the woods.

"And then of course there's the problem with the size. A regular horse is out of the question," Merry was saying as he and Boromir entered the clearing.

Boromir took in the sight of the elf kneeling behind the Ranger, the blue eyes twinkling in the firelight, his smile almost feral, and sighed. He looked down at his hobbit companion.

"Lemon, you say?" Merry winked. Boromir stacked the wood beside the small fire Sam was frantically feeding splinters to. The hobbit looked up at him and Boromir managed a small apologetic sound.

Gimli called softly to Gandalf and the old wizard left the group to stand beside the dwarf. He had taken up a position on a low ridge near the camp.

"There's a stench on the wind." Gimli said, nodding to the north. "It may be nothing, but it makes me uneasy."

Gandalf concentrated in the direction Gimli had indicated. He did not sense any evil, but thought it best to investigate. He nodded and clapped the dwarf on the shoulder.

"Legolas!" he called, command implicit in his voice.

The change in the elf startled his companions. Instantly the impishness disappeared, replaced by complete attention to the wizard as he bounded up. He gathered up his weapons without breaking stride and was shrugging into his quiver even as he reached the pair on the ridge. The others, with the exception of Sam, who continued to prepare the meal, followed quickly, catching the last of Gandalf's words.

"Just to be safe, you understand?" he told the elf.

"Of course, Mithrandir," Legolas replied, sprinting off into the dusk. Within seconds he was indistinguishable in the shadows.

Aragorn shook the half formed braids from his hair and stared after his friend. "Should we go with him?" he asked, indicating Boromir and himself with a wave. The old wizard shook his head.

"I want you two here. We'll eat and then move further into the brush until he returns. Gimli, you keep guard up here, I'll bring you a plate." The dwarf nodded, hands resting on the great axe. Gandalf turned his gaze to the men. "You stay with the hobbits."

"What is it?" Boromir asked, gathering Pip and Merry behind him.

"I don't know." Gandalf said, his brows low. "Until I do, we stay quiet."

They ate the food Sam served them silently and doused the fire. Packs and bedding were hurriedly bundled up and the group made it's way into the shelter of the small wood. Gone was the easy laughter of earlier in the evening.

"Rest if you can," Gandalf told them, straightening his hat and packing his pipe back into the knob of his staff. "But be ready to move instantly." He stalked off to join Gimli on the ridge.

Pippin, wide eyed, unconsciously moved closer to the man from Gondor. Boromir removed his shield and settled beside a tree. "Try to nap, Pip," he told the frightened hobbit. "I'll watch over you." He patted the ground beside him, soft with fallen pine needles. Pip and Merry both scuttled beside him, Frodo and Sam across from them, back to back, while Aragorn calmed Bill with soft Sindarin. The pony fretted for a moment, unhappy to be under the close branches of the evergreens when fresh grass waited beyond them, but soon settled. Sam passed an apple to the Ranger for him, and Bill was soon sleeping easily, calmer than his masters.

Legolas ran effortlessly, following the faint and acrid scent that had worried Gimli. He thought he recognized it, and reaching the crest of a hill, a faint reddish glow and darker smudge on the horizon confirmed his guess. The woods were burning. But caused by what? He altered his path, deciding to approach from the opposite direction of the hidden camp. If the fires were a diversion, lit by an enemy, he could lead them away from the others. Eyes narrowed, he increased his pace.

Pippin shivered, despite his jacket, and Boromir pulled his cloak off to wrap around the sleeping hobbits. It had been hours since Legolas had run off and Pip and Merry had fallen into an uneasy doze. Merry looked up at the Gondorian with half opened eyes, mumbled something unintelligible and pulled the fur in closer. Boromir smiled fondly at the pair and stood to meet the gaze of Aragorn. They locked eyes for a moment, their earlier conversation clearly on the minds of both men. It was the Ranger who looked away first, though. Boromir opened his mouth, to apologize for his earlier behavior perhaps, but stopped himself. The sharp ears of the Ranger had caught the sound, though. He glanced down at Sam and Frodo, both sitting with eyes closed, although both awake, and moved closer to Boromir, his worn boots making no sound. He held out his hand to the man, apology in his his eyes. Boromir hesitated a moment, then nodded and grasped the proffered hand. Aragorn smiled slightly.


End file.
